I Am Mr Five
by Sir Lucifer Morningstar
Summary: In one world, a villain whose powers should have made him a renowned world terrorist fades into obscurity after suffering defeat by the Straw Hats. In this world, someone else takes the reins earlier and brings about an age of pirates that has absolutely nothing to do with adventure and nakamaship. "Rape. Pillage. Burn. T'is a pirate's life for me, savvy?" SI-OC as Mr. Five.
1. Prologue

**I really, _really_ don't want to become like some authors on this site (*cough*NeonZangetsu*cough*) who have dozens of epic stories but many of them are uncompleted and dozens more of them are abandoned... but FUCK!**

 **The plot bunnies man. The fucking plot bunnies. They fucking kidnapped me and took the shape of a pretty bunny girl and mounted me till I saw the heavens and found Samsara.**

 **Many people asked me to do a One Piece fic. Some wanted me to do it with the main character being reborn as a Celestial Dragon. Nice idea, but too easy. Instead... I decided on a little twist.**

 **WARNINGS: You know the fucking drill. If you haven't read my stories yet and know the type of content I put out, then sucks to be you.**

* * *

 **I Am Mr. Five**

 **Prologue**

* * *

"I can create explosions from any part of my body…"

"Yes, we've gone over this Mr. 5." A woman said, irritation and exasperation thick in her voice.

"And I'm immune to all forms of explosions." I continued, ignoring her exasperation.

"Yes." She said, gritting her teeth, before shaking her head. "You're also an elite bounty hunter working for Baroque Works, and you've never failed a mission before. Now – we have a mission from Mr. 0 – and I don't want to be the one to explain that we failed our mission because you _somehow_ lost your memory by hitting your head on the mast and falling into the ocean."

I frowned, rubbing the side of my head with my middle and index fingers slowly. The swaying back and forth of the ship was doing very little to help my growing nausea and confusion, nor were the cold, harsh night winds. The woman in front of me helped though, to an extent. With bright short blonde hair and bright green eyes, wearing a yellow and orange hat, as well as a short yellow dress with lemon-like patterns, lemon earrings and white high-heeled shoes – I stared at her for a long time, trying to find a way not to be confused, as well as to find something to say that wasn't ' _damn you're hot. Wanna fuck?_ '

"And you are…?"

"Miss Valentine. Your _partner_."

I blinked. "Whoa. Sweet. How did I bang a hottie like you?"

"Not like that!" She yelled, "Your _business_ partner. Your _work_ partner. _Strictly_."

"Uh-huh." I nodded. "And what work is it that we do again?"

She gave a 'sweet' smile that wasn't fooling me for a second. "We work for Baroque Works, which is, at the surface, a legitimate business. We're bounty hunters – meaning, we kill pirates and turn in their bounties."

"Whoa whoa whoa –" I stopped her, waving my hands "We _kill_ people?"

Her smile seemed to strain. "Yes –"

"And we can do this _legally?_ I mean – we won't go to jail and shit for killing people –"

"Jail? What? No – we kill them and turn in their bounties for beli. Why would we go to jail? The people we kill are declared criminals."

"Beli?" I asked, frowning, "Isn't that the currency of –"

Wait… Beli… Beli – Mr. Five, Miss Valentine, and did she say –

"Did you say, _Baroque Works?_ "

Miss Valentine looked at me, seemingly satisfied with the recognition in my voice. "Yes. Is it finally coming back to you?"

 _Baroque Works –_ _Beli – Miss Valentine and Mr. 5 – didn't it sound like –_

"My powers… did I get them from eating a… a Devil Fruit?"

"How else would you have gotten them?"

 _Devil Fruits._ _Shit._ It confirmed what I was thinking – and that wasn't a good thing in the slightest. _Devil Fruits_ meant _One Piece_ – the grand pirate adventure and all that fuck. I hadn't watched or read One Piece in years – and the last thing I remembered about the series was them fighting some guy called Caesar or something…

But, wait – how the fuck did I even _get_ here? I was – I was –

Oh. Yeah. I was on a yacht. During a storm. And I fell into the water.

Shit… did I die?

How'd I end up in this guy's body then? Mr. Five?

"You better get it together, we'll soon be arriving at Whiskey Peak." Miss Valentine said, "And failing this mission is not an option."

Whiskey Peak – Whiskey Peak – damn, I couldn't remember. One Piece was such a damn large world with so many characters and locations and events that I could barely remember half of them. I wasn't a major hardcore fan of the series, I didn't know much about it's lore or history or shit – and I only remembered few important moments. Like Ace dying – Whitebeard dying – oh and Enel, cause the guy was modelled after Eminem. I didn't even remember _why_ Ace died –

But… I _did_ remember Crocodile… and the… Eleabast Arc? Realbastard Arc? Arabeaster Arc? Whatever. I remembered Luffy getting his ass handed to him by Croc at least three times. Why were they even fighting? Some typical villain shit – but I knew that Vivi had something to do with it –

"Vivi…" I muttered.

"So you _do_ remember our mission." Miss Valentine sounded pleased. She reached into her bag, bringing out two photographs. "The boss said, 'someone knows his secret' and we figured out it's these two – Mr. 8 and Miss Wednesday – they are Igaram and Princess Nefeltari Vivi of the Alabasta Kingdom."

It was coming back to me, slowly. I rose to my feet, swaying slightly on the ship and placing my hand on my head.

"Well, do you remember now?" she said, tapping her foot impatiently.

I wagered my options quickly. The first was to tell her that I didn't remember, not really, and that I was actually a guy who came from earth and had no fucking clue how I entered this mook's body. Except, that wouldn't end well in the fucking slightest for me – and I didn't like her tone all that much. God knows what she'd do if I said that.

The second option, was to bullshit my way through it all, and hope I remembered the important stuff quickly enough so I wouldn't get killed. I couldn't go telling people where I was from without looking like a fucking maniac… and I had no bloody clue how I would even get back. Maybe that scientist guy who was popular and made those bear robots could help me? What was his name again? Dr. New Vegas I think –

Gah, why would he even _want_ to help me? He'd be better off dissecting me like some lab rat or trying to prod ideas about how to build nukes from my brain…

"Well?"

Shit – I was stalling and she was looking mighty pissed. How was I supposed to act again? Mr. 5… he was one of those silent-but-deadly mook types wasn't he? So… talk as though I'm a cold professional assassin – like Kiritsugu or Agent 47 – right? So…

"Watch your tone, _Valentine_." I said. "I remember enough to know that I could as much as _touch_ you and leave you missing a limb. _Don't_ test me."

Damn even _I_ felt that was cold. Miss Valentine flinched back in shock, suddenly looking at me far more warily than before. Her eyes tried their best to avoid mine, and I breathed an inward sigh of relief.

I talked big but I had no bloody clue how to even _use_ my powers. Shit. Shit. Shit. I'd be fucked when it came to actual fighting – or to battle.

Come on brain, remember – _remember_ – how the hell did this guy use his devil fruit powers? The only thing that came to mind was digging my nose for boogers and then flicking it – but there was no way that was right. My mind was fucking with me if it expected me to believe that's how a guy who could make his body _explode_ used his powers.

"How long till we reach Whiskey Peak?" I asked, doing my best to put an emotionless quality to my voice.

 _Remember… like an assassin, like a hitman –_

"Twenty-five minutes." Miss Valentine said, sounding slightly more demure than before.

I nodded. _Like an assassin_. _Be a cool-headed, silent hitman._ "Miss Wednesday and Mr 8 are the targets. We waste no time bantering with them. We waste no time entertaining them. We do not even _inform_ them of the fact that they are our targets. We engage them, we eliminate them, and we leave. Is that clear?"

The blonde woman bristled. "In case you've _forgotten_ we're _partners_ , and I'm not your lackey – I don't take orders from you."

Ahh… shit what to do? I'm a bad guy right? What would a bad guy do in this situation?

I spun around, grabbing the woman by the neck – _damn she was light_ – and I held her in the air, feeling my hand squeeze slowly and tightly against her throat. It felt almost effortless, actually, it _was_ effortless, I never remembered being this strong before, being this… _powerful._

"That was the _old me_ ," I said. "The _new me_ has little patience, and a slowly developing urge to no longer require a partner."

Was I going overboard? Was this too much? I didn't know – I wasn't sure – all I knew was that I was fucked in this situation one way or another. This world, the One Piece world – it was a fucking crazy place – the only way to survive was if you were strong. I couldn't afford to be a pansy – I couldn't afford to be seen as weak, I couldn't _afford_ to be weak –

Er – wait – was she growing heavier? I snapped my attention to the woman held in my hand, and I realized it wasn't my imagination, she _was_ getting heavier – damn – it felt like I was holding a massive set of dumbbells – what the fuck –

I felt my arm straining to keep her in the air. Nope – nope – nope – no fucking way, _heavy – she was fucking heavy –_

I let her go, watching as she dropped to the deck of the ship, the impact leaving a large enough dent in the wood for her right leg to go through. She coughed and hacked, taking in deep breaths of air as her right hand slowly rubbed her throat, her throat which now had a clear visible bruise in the shape of my hand.

I almost winced at the sight – shit – had I overdone it?

Did I really have to be a bad guy? I mean, sure, I was in the body of one of the bad guys, but did that mean I _had_ to be one? But – who were the good guys in this world anyway? The pirates? Luffy's crew?

I didn't want to join Luffy's crew. Luffy would irritate the fuck out of me with his stupidity and his tendency to never grow. Nami's money-grubbing antics and loud voice would get on my nerves pretty quick, and I only liked her because she was hot. Sanji would piss me off to no end – Usopp was just laughable – and I didn't know what to think about Franky. The only ones there I'd chill with would be Zoro, Robin and Brook – but Zoro was absolutely loyal to Luffy, so that was out. Robin was all too mysterious and wayyy to perceptive, so she'd see through me and any secrets I had with ease. Brook was cool because he was a singing skeleton. Nuff' said.

Then there was Chopper… cute… but too naïve to understand dark humour or sexual jokes. He'd be a horrible drinking buddy.

Fuck. I wouldn't fit in with the Straw Hats at all. And the Straw Hats were the major 'good guys' of the world. Who else was left? Who else could I join? I didn't know – I didn't _remember_.

Shit. Shit. Shit. The more I thought this over, the more my stomach filled with dread. _I'm gonna die again._ That was the thought in my head. _I'm gonna die – I'm gonna die – I'm gonna die –_

I didn't know how to sail or navigate for _shit_.

I had no clue about basic survival needs when sailing the oceans.

I knew jack shit about the geography of this world.

And, I was a bounty hunter belonging to a criminal organization… meaning I'd most likely killed a shit ton of people, and would be required to keep killing people if I didn't want to be "terminated."

I'd have laughed if it wasn't so fucking terrifying. The odds of me surviving the One Piece world on my own were so fucking low, it wasn't funny.

 _Oi idiot – you just threatened to kill the one person who might have actually helped you out._

And that thought came to me with a large grimace.

 _Fuck. What the fucking hell am I doing?_

Miss Valentine was still rubbing her throat, and I was still standing around like a jackass. I realized my hands were shaking – they were shaking and shivering like I'd come down with the worst cold of the century. Worst of all, Miss Valentine saw it – she saw how bad they were shaking. No – not just my hands – my legs as well.

"Y-you're... scared?"

"Shut up!" I snapped, gritting my teeth as I tried to get my legs and hands to stop shaking.

 _Stop shaking damn it!_

 _Stop fucking shaking damn it!_

I could tell that my breathing was getting louder, harsher, and I grit my teeth as I tried to stop it. My palms felt freezing cold, and a small line of sweat appeared on my brow. I moved my hand across it, wiping it –

"Wait! NO!"

She shouted, slapping my hand upwards –

 _BOOM!_

I winced slightly from the sound, but other than that – the heat, the pressure and the shockwave passed over my skin like a layer of warm water. I stared at the portion of the ship's mast that had been blown clean off – the sheer size of the explosion making my eyes widen in disbelief.

 _I… did that?_

There wasn't even any _debris_ from the explosion. No chunks of burning wood falling from the sky – just bits and pieces of ash that were blown away by the wind. How powerful did the blasts have to be for something like that…?

"What part of you can create explosions from any part of your body didn't you understand?!"

I blinked. "Any part? Even liquids?'

"Even that!"

A thought came to me. "Wait, so if I ejaculate into a woman –"

Miss Valentine's face turned red. "I don't know! Why would you ask something like that?"

"Hey, it's an important question. I want to know if I give a whole new meaning to the term 'explosive sex.'"

Her face went even redder. "You – I can't believe it. You don't remember at all do you? You don't remember _anything_!" She grit her teeth, veins bulging. "You don't even _act_ like Mr. Five - because he'd never have asked such a stupid question, and he'd have known better than to try and wipe his sweat like that!"

I sighed, realizing that my hands and legs weren't shaking as bad as before. "Alright – you caught me. I don't remember – I don't remember my name, I don't remember being a Baroque Works Agent, I don't remember a lot of things – I just remember a few here and there." I turned to her, grimacing at her neck.

"I'm… sorry about that. I was trying to – well – shit, I don't even really know what I was trying to do. I guess I just didn't want you to underestimate me or something – you're an elite agent and bounty hunter – you didn't sign up to babysit an amnesiac. So I wanted to try and… you know…"

"Act like a douchebag?"

I nodded. "Not the words I'd use… but yeah."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm your partner. I'm not just going to turn around and slit your throat while you sleep just because you lost your memory… no matter how convenient it may be."

"Wow. That's… probably the nicest thing I've heard in the brief while that I've had memories."

"Also because it'd get out that I killed my partner and I won't have any partners anymore, because people will think I'm a turncoat – which will lead to someone coming for my head."

"And suddenly, not so nice anymore." I said dryly, rolling my eyes at the woman's 'smile.'

"Also, if we fail this mission, our superiors will probably kill us either way, because they won't care if you lost your memories, or if you lost your arm." Her smile continued, and it was slowly getting creepy.

"What type of shitty organization kills its members just because they fail a mission?"

"Baroque Works." She replied succinctly. "Also, this is an _important_ mission. Mr. 0's identity is at stake – we _can't_ afford to fail… because _I like living_."

"I can't argue with that. I like you living too."

She blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Er… shit. What I meant to say was – you know, with you, being alive – and me… it'd be great and all – and er – you know you're… and I'm…"

 _What the hell was I saying?_

I palmed my face.

"….Fuck it. I think you're hot and I'd like to bang you. Multiple times, if possible."

She stared at me.

"I'm not hearing a no…?"

"Okay."

Wait… wha?

"Wait… for real?"

"If –" she interrupted, still smiling "You somehow manage to get it together, and be the Officer Agent I need you to be, completing our mission by killing the spies, and _not_ getting us killed."

This woman clearly underestimated the power of a guy who wanted to get laid.

"Deal." I said immediately. "You can most certainly count on me."

She rubbed her nose in irritation, before sighing. "Something tells me I'm going to regret this."

Xx I am Mr. Five xX

 **Whiskey Peak**

Despite the damage done to the mast of our ship, we were still able to arrive at Whiskey Peak in relatively safe condition. Miss Valentine made some comments about how the ships were generally built to withstand such damage, in the advent of an enemy attack and what not, it would be able to sail for a long while until it arrived at a place where repairs could be done. I could understand that, considering more than 70% of this world was filled with water, and naval voyages were the only way a person could get from Point A to Point B. It'd make sense for their ships to be built of stronger stuff than what I knew of back home on earth.

What _was_ this planet even called anyway? I'd have to find out.

Though, as it was, I was remembering more and more stuff the more I looked at sceneries, and the more some stuff was mentioned. I remembered about Seastone when she brought up the topic of ships, and I think marine vessels used the stuff at the bottom of their ships when passing the Calm Seas – I think that was what it was called. Seas filled with monsters that were humungous, and seas that had no wind.

The more I remembered, the more it helped, as we made our way from the docks over to the center of the town – we could hear the sounds of what sounded like battle going on.

"Whiskey Peak…" a thought occurred to me, and I snapped my attention to Miss Valentine "…isn't this the place filled with people who celebrate pirates when they arrive, then wait till they're drunk and asleep before killing or capturing them for their bounties?"

"You remember." She nodded. "It's a front for the billions – the lower ranked members of Baroque Works."

… _Shit._

Didn't that mean – weren't Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine introduced when…

 _When the Straw Hat crew was here?_

Fuck.

I didn't have any delusions in my mind about taking down the Straw Hats on my own. Nami and Usopp would be no problem, I think, but Luffy, Zoro and even Sanji – those guys were out of my league.

Worse, assuming I was stronger than them, I _still_ couldn't killany of them.

Killing Luffy would be a death sentence. If Garp didn't come charging for me, Shanks would. If Shanks didn't, then Ace would. If Ace didn't, then Dragon would. _Someone_ would come for my head if it got out that I killed Luffy. Someone who would _kill_ me – no ifs, buts, or maybes.

Killing any of Luffy's 'Nakama' would essentially be the same thing. Luffy would _hunt me down_ for the rest of my living days, for as long as I was alive. He would never rest – he would never give up.

Then, there was Vivi. Wasn't she important to the plot? She became a temporary member of the Straw Hats… didn't she? They did the whole 'save the princess' thing didn't they? What'd happen if I killed her here? Did that mean… Crocodile won? Crocodile gained complete control over her country?

 _Why did I care?_

So what if Vivi died and Croc won… why should it matter to me? If anything, I'd be a high-ranking member in Croc's new world. That is, assuming he didn't decide to go super-evil villain and kill off every Baroque Works member in order to keep his secret…

Who was I kidding? That was _exactly_ what Crocodile would do. Once he was done with us – he'd discard us or eliminate us to tie up loose ends.

 _Fuck_.

Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

The problem was – there needed to be a catalyst for Luffy and crew to help Vivi and stop Crocodile, that catalyst was my arrival, me and Miss Valentine, being Officer Agents too strong to handle – Igaram would beg Zoro to protect Vivi, and Nami would overhear that Vivi was a princess, and ask for a billion beli in order to aid her…

 _How do I remember all this?_

The more I thought about the situation, the more I realized that I remembered the events with far sharper clarity than I should – it was an episode I watched more than eight to ten years ago – yet, I still remembered the procession of events as though it happened yesterday –

"Mr. 5, look alive."

I resisted the urge to jerk up at the sound of my title, instead, I turned my gaze down the road. There, I spotted an otter and a vulture – sitting on a sign post, opposite them, there seemed to be members of the billions, fleeing.

"T-the Unluckies!"

"W-we weren't running away! We – we were just –"

"P-please don't report us to the boss!"

Miss Valentine turned to me, irritation in her voice. "Pathetic. So much for the Billions – running away from a bunch of measly pirates. We should take care of them."

Somehow, when she said 'we' I had a feeling she meant 'me.'

"Well?" She said, "Are you going to be the Agent I need you to be, or…?"

The _or_ went unsaid – and a part of me that had self-respect and pride was about to tell her to fuck off if she thought she could bait me around with the promise of sex – of course, that part of me also remembered how long it's been since I'd been laid, and realized that one way or another, Miss Valentine was my best shot at surviving this world.

 _Alright… enabling Douchebag mode._

The sunglasses wearing otter and vulture (which was far more surreal than it sounded) leaped into the air, seemingly ready to tear a new one to the fleeing members of Baroque works, before I took a deep breath.

"Wait."

My voice carried out across to them. The duo stopped their attack cold, and I stalked forward, doing my best to act as natural and as intimidating as possible. Thankfully, there were a pair of shades in my pocket, and with them on, I didn't have to worry about anyone seeing my eyes and fully reading my expression.

 _Drama Class Electives – don't fail me now._

"To think that there are such cowards in Baroque Works…" I muttered, putting as much focus as I could on making it sound as irritated as possible.

"M-M-Mr. 5?"

The only long range attack that I could remember this guy having was flicking his booger. It was a disgusting tactic, but it was one which worked, considering the speed and effectiveness of the explosion. Yet, it was something I did not feel too comfortable using… instead…

 _Please don't fail, please don't fail, please don't fail – I REALLY don't want to look like an idiot here –_

"Wastes of space such as yourself," My palms were sweaty, and I closed my eyes and focused on that sweat "Should simply just vanish."

 _Ignite!_

 _BOOM!_

I was immune to explosions, which, I realized easily enough. However, I was not immune to the sheer kinetic force _generated_ by them. In the same way that Luffy, using his rubber arms, could slingshot himself –

 _I could propel myself forward using my explosions._

The burst of speed was fast, _too too fast – slow down slow down slow down –_

I ended up barreling past the Unluckies and straight into one of the three men that had been attempting to flee, and I brought up my right foot in an attempt to stop myself –

 _BOOM!_

 _Blood. Blood and guts and gore._

It took every last ounce of my willpower not to throw up from the sight of what was _left_ of the man I kicked by accident. What was left of the other two in the surrounding _area_. The blood didn't even splatter on me – all of it escaped in an arc outward from the point of impact, my foot to the man's stomach.

There was a crater in the ground surrounding the impact point, and more than that, the other two men had been caught in it. They weren't _completely_ blown up – but – but –

The human neck was not meant to bend 360 degrees. Nor were the arms designed to snap backwards –

They were covered with massive third-degree burns, and the entire area was filled with the thick, nauseating smell of burnt flesh and meat.

I was still standing, my right foot extended outward, even as the dust and smoke began to clear. Slowly, I put my foot down, and I put my hands in my pockets, playing it off as though my massacre of the three men had been intentional. I resisted the bile slowly rising in my throat from the smell of burnt flesh that would forever be stuck in my mind. The smell clung to my outfit in a way I wanted to wash off. I wanted to wash it off badly.

Instead, I turned around, gazing at the Unluckies, who seemed to be shell-shocked, unable to move, their eyes bulging and their mouths hung low.

"Tell Mr. 0 – the situation will be handled."

They couldn't argue, they couldn't say anything – instead, the otter got on the back of the vulture and they flew away from the scene of the massacre as quickly as they could. I watched them leave, and a part of me told me it would be wiser for me to take them down now – but I didn't trust my body to move. I didn't trust my hands not to shake or quaver.

Instead, I walked back to Miss Valentine. My hands in my pockets, my mind replaying the kick slowly, over and over again with unbelievable clarity – the force of the explosion –

"Was that Officer Agent enough for you?" I asked, calmly. She didn't respond. She tried to pretend as though it didn't bother her, but it was clear on her face – it did. Still, she nodded.

"T-that… was good enough."

I resisted the urge to snort. I resisted the urge to say something sarcastic, something like, _I just massacred three men so I can get in your pants. Hope that really turns you on._ Except, I knew the blame wasn't necessarily hers – it was mine. I didn't _have_ to do it – but I did.

Somehow, I thought they wouldn't die. Thought that they'd be immune. I mean – this was the One Piece world filled with all sorts of monsters – surely, explosions created by devil fruits would not be that powerful? And… in canon, in the anime and manga – no one had actually ever died from an explosion… had they? People were hit by explosions all the time and they shrugged it off… didn't they?

The problem was, I wasn't in an anime, or in a manga. Here, there was no board of censors preventing deadly explosions from causing massive amounts of gore.

What was I thinking? My power was to create _explosions_. Explosions – you know, the thing that a certain group of humans used when screaming 'Allah Akbar' and performing grand acts of terrorism. The things that could cause massive amounts of damage in a battlefield, massive amount of casualties to people participating in said battlefield – the thing that had once been dropped over two cities and led to the deaths of hundreds and thousands of lives –

 _Can I create nuclear level explosions?_

The thought was terrifying. The sheer level of power I would wield –

How was it, that the moron using this power had never tested the limits? How was he not on the level of the Shichibukai or Yonko? He could create explosions on any part of his body, and he was _immune_ to them – he was the ultimate wet dream of every Suicide Bomber.

I could Suicide Bomb people without dying or feeling the repercussions. Over and over and over…

"Heh… heh heh… heheheheheheheheh."

"Mr… Five?" Miss Valentine called out my name with clear concern on her face.

I paid no heed to her, and rose my hands up, now basking in their sweatiness and the realization that my body was the equivalent of a nitroglycerin, dynamite, C4 and TNT factory. But at the same time, it was much, _much_ more.

Explosions were more than just heat and fire. There was also _pressure_. _Shockwaves_. The center of an explosion detonated shockwaves of air which rushed out and dealt damage to objects even before the heat and flames did. It was why explosions could shatter glass from far away, even though the actual 'explosion' did not touch the glass in question.

Shockwaves, with enough force, could rupture organs and shatter bones. Unless you were a logia-wielder, you would be dealt massive amounts of internal damage from shockwaves and pressure.

Which meant…

"Miss Valentine," I spoke up, "Let's complete our mission."


	2. Explosive Contact

**In the process of doing research for this little fuck-plot-bunny, I went back all the fucking way to Episode 1 of One Piece, and Chapter 1 of the Manga. Then, I screened every single fucking episode and chapter where Mr. 5 has an appearance. Know what I found out, after watching and reading like a hawk?**

 **One Piece characters only survive because of Plot-fucking-Armor.**

 **The Entire Straw Hat Crew has survived more fucking times by luck (aka, author-playing-god) than by any fucking capability of their own. Villains are dumbed down for the sake of plot and oh fucking god let's not even mention how everyone and their fucking mothers shrug off mortal wounds without batting an eyelash.**

 **Unless you have the strength of will of Roronoa-fucking-Zoro (the only guy legit allowed to pull that off) you should _not_ be fucking standing up from mortal injuries.**

 **Yeah... it pissed me off. Fuck that shit.**

 **Fuck Plot Armor.**

 **I'm doing this Game of Thrones style.**

* * *

 **I Am Mr. Five**

* * *

She had gotten accustomed to killing.

"Miss Valentine," the sound of his voice sent a shudder down her spine. "Let's complete our mission."

She didn't trust her voice to not waver, and hence, she allowed her head speak for her. A swift bob, twice, as her heart beat faster and she did what she could to make sure her face didn't show any discomfort.

She had gotten accustomed to _killing_ , but not to… to… _butchering_.

She wanted to throw up. To vomit badly at the sight and the smell of the carnage that lay before her. She could still see the entrails and blackened small intestines of one of the men, lounging around the floor next to a partially-charred eyeball and a splatter of steaming grey-matter –

She swallowed the bile building up in her throat as hard as she could. She couldn't afford to show weakness. Not here. Not now. Mr. 5 didn't have his memories, he didn't even _remember_ that they were partners with a flawless mission record, didn't remember who he was or what his ability did, didn't remember that he usually _never_ used explosions of such sheer caliber before –

Or, rather, was it that he _couldn't?_

She didn't know. All she knew, was that she'd never seen him utilize his Devil Fruit in that manner before. Usually, _she_ was the one propelled into the air, riding on the updraft of his explosions, but she'd never seen him _shoot_ _himself_ forward with explosions before. She didn't even know he _could_ –

More terrifying than his power, was his _reaction_. She'd seen it, the momentary second where he contemplated what he'd done, and rather than grief or rage or fear at his own power, something else flickered in his expression.

 _Glee_.

He was _pleased_ with himself. His lips had upturned into a brilliant smirk, and his teeth showed for just a fraction of a second, and if she had not known better, she would have claimed that he was about to let out a maniacal laugh of satisfaction.

And then he _did_.

He'd _laughed_.

 _Chuckled_.

A thick, lax, spew of amused contentment.

She'd _shuddered_ at the laugh, giving him momentary glances of worry.

She _knew_ that type of laugh.

It was the laughter of a certain type of person on the Grand Line. A type of man whose name was often spoken of in dread or utter and absolute fear. _That_ kind of laugh.

She was terrified.

Miss Valentine would admit it easily that that she was absolutely _terrified_ of this new Mr. 5.

"Miss Valentine."

She resisted the urge to straighten up and respond with a 'yes sir?' by biting down on her lip before the instinct overwhelmed her.

"What is it?"

Under the moonlight, the jacketed, sunglasses-wearing dark-skinned explosion man turned to give her a glance. Her heart beat faster. She couldn't tell what he was thinking with those glasses on and with his expression so neutral. His hands were in the pockets of his Mr. 5 jacket, and it was at that moment she realized that she'd subconsciously been following _behind_ him, rather than _beside_ him.

Her mind had unknowingly changed the status quo. They weren't _equals_. How could they be? Not with that sheer destructive power at his fingertips. No – he was _superior_ to her, and if he wanted to kill her, all he'd need to do was _touch her_.

"You're quiet."

Was she? Damn it –

"We're on a mission."

He stared at her for even longer, and she could feel her heart beating even faster than before. Was she going to have to use her Kilo-Kilo no Mi to escape?

"I'm not going to kill you."

She recoiled at the comment, cursing herself for the action. "Don't think so highly of yourself. I'm not scared of you, Mr. 5."

"Oh, really?"

 _Boom!_

He was in front of her, _directly_ in front of her, in a single moment. Her eyes went wide as she realized she never saw him move. If it wasn't for the sound of the explosion and the shockwave it made, she'd never have noticed that he'd moved.

His right hand lay shamelessly over her left breast, her _heart_ , and her motion stilled as she didn't dare to so much as _breathe_. She realized, that her legs were shaking, quivering, and despite the relatively cool night, sweat ran down her spine and collected over her brow.

"Boom."

 _KA – BOOM!_

* * *

 **XXXXXX**

* * *

The moment I knew my prank had gone too far was the moment Miss Valentine dropped to the floor, shaking like a leaf, and wheezing as though she'd ran a marathon.

I hadn't _actually_ exploded her heart – but I'd exploded my _feet_ and made it seem like I was _going_ to explode her heart. I mean, I wouldn't _kill her_ for _no reason_ after all.

 _But she didn't know that._

The sight of the wheezing, sharply breathing, _terrified_ woman who was supposed to be my partner made me wince a bit at that realization.

 _Ah… oops?_

What I'd done was essentially the same as playing an unwilling game of Russian Roulette. I was a gun, propped up against her skull, but with unknown odds about whether or not the gun was loaded.

She probably _fully_ expected herself to die in that moment. Enough so that once her brain caught up with the realization that the explosion had not harmed her, her body was already in shock.

 _Shit… what exactly do I do now?_

Should I play up the good guy angle? Apologize? Tell her it was just a joke?

 _Threatening to blow up your heart was just a prank bro! Calm down bro! It's just a joke!_

…That probably wouldn't end well. I'd be like one of those scummy pranksters who did shitty stuff under the excuses of 'pranking.' Not to mention it'd make me look a bit unstable if that was my idea of a joke.

Well it _was_ , but… you know.

Should I play up the _bad guy_ angle instead? Mouth off something? Brag? Piss on her to show dominance?

… Ignoring that stupid last stray thought, I still wasn't seeing how it would help. As it stood, there was _no way_ we could go back to being "partners." The power dynamic was heavily skewed in my favor. I couldn't see her as someone who was my equal, just as she would never be able to see the guy who brought her to her knees with threats as her equal. Essentially the same as school-yard politics where the nerd who got the shit beat out of him by his bully would fantasize about beating up his bully and gaining the upper hand, but in reality, would always know where he was on the pecking order.

And I'd actually wanted us to be partners really. But… _it couldn't work_. The gap in knowledge and power was too wide for us to have been considered partners.

Ah, well.

A Secretary was fine too.

* * *

XXXXXX

* * *

She could still hear the sound of blood rushing tremendously in her ears. Her body was frozen. Despite her best efforts to _move_ , and despite the complete and utter indignation from the realization that she'd been scared enough to almost wet herself, she couldn't bring it in her to so much as _move_.

 _I – I'm a-a-alive?_

She could have sworn she felt a blinding pain in her chest when that explosion went off. Or was it her mind playing tricks on her? Her gaze managed to flicker down a bit, and noticed that her chest was perfectly unharmed. So no, she hadn't died. She wasn't even injured.

"So. Yeah. You're definitely scared of me." Mr. 5 rubbed his hand through his hair. "That's funny. The first friend I make and she's terrified that I'm going to blow her to chunky steaming pieces of flesh."

She didn't trust herself to speak. Still, she forced her lips to ask. "A-aren't you?"

"Well no," he responded dryly. "We haven't had sex yet."

The ridiculous statement was jarring enough to obliterate most of her fear. "W-w-what?"

"I said –"

"I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID!" she yelled. "I can't believe you were actually _serious_ –"

"Wait, weren't you?"

"NO!"

Reward him with sex for doing his _job?_ Did he think she was some kind of cheap hooker? He'd _actually_ thought that she'd –

"Not even a blowjob?"

Heat filled up her cheeks. "NO!"

He frowned a bit. "Okay, what if I'm the one giving you a –"

She almost tore out her hair in frustration. "I can't _believe_ this is what you've become! We're not, _never_ having any kind of sexual relationship! We are work partners, _strictly!_ "

"Then I suppose I don't have any need for you."

And like that, her breath hitched, and her fear returned.

"W-wait – you can't, we're partners –"

"How do you use your powers in a fight?"

The non-sequitur threw her off.

"What bits of memory I have tell me that you ride on the coattails and wind provided by my explosions, go up into the air, and then turn heavy and crash down on enemies. Is that right?"

She nodded rapidly. "Y-ye –"

"And how exactly do I benefit in combat from your powers?"

She opened her mouth to say something, racking her brain to think of something sharply. Something other than, ' _you don't._ '

"That's not partnership. That's _parasitism_. One person leeching off the other with no benefits granted. I don't _need_ _you_ by my side, but you _need me_ to be even _half_ as effective."

His palm slowly out stretched until two of his gloved fingers grasped softly against her skull.

"So, combat wise, you're useless to me. What other uses do you have? Information and navigation would be one, to help fill in the gaps in my memory. But – I don't necessarily need _you_ for that. The Millions are here, and I'm an Officer Agent. I could simply ask for the best navigators on this island and assemble a halfway competent crew in less than an hour."

 _He could_. He could, and they would listen. Well, they would listen because they feared and respected him, because he was Mr. 5, and his power and authority wasn't to be questioned.

Dread began to fill up her stomach as she contemplated _how_ it was possible that she never once entertained the possibility that she could be discarded so easily. Honestly, even _before_ Mr. 5 lost his memory and suddenly gained perspective on things, she was not actually bringing much to the table. They'd never failed a mission till date, but there was no denying that it was him who did the brunt of the heavy work. Falling on people could only be useful if they were too damaged to move. If they were healthy, they could effortlessly dodge her attacks again and again and again. Mr. 5 was the one who rendered them immobile with his explosions, and she delivered the finishing touches.

That… that brought up his point. If he was the one doing most of the work, and she shared in the credit with him… could it really have been called a _partnership?_

"You're not my partner. You're my _lackey._ "

Mr. 5 had always been hot-tempered. There was rumor amongst devil fruit wielders that the devil fruit ability you gained tended to affect your personality and temperament, but it was never proven as anything more than an old wives' tale. She had always considered Mr. 5 as proof that the tale had some truth to it, although, his temper was never directed straight at her. He'd treated her with some sort of respect and professionalism, albeit limited, and she'd followed him because she liked the amicable feeling he had.

But this – this man in front of her, with all five of his fingers pressing against her temple in a thinly veiled threat to explode her skull – he didn't have any of that same sentiment. His eyes were obscured behind his shades, but there was a ruthless, almost absolutely potent air about him. An air that reeked of a form of self-assuredness and confidence she didn't believe he'd possessed. He'd gone from shaking in fear and confusion on their boat… to this?

 _Is this what_ _ **power**_ _does to a man?_

"Do you understand what this means, _Miss Valentine?_ "

She couldn't even fight back against him. Hitting him was a suicide move. _Trying_ to struggle could set him off accidentally and she'd end up killing herself in vain. A more idealistic, foolish person would have claimed that attempt to fight back and die fighting was worth it – but, she wasn't such a person. She _liked_ living. She _liked_ the easy life. Being paid a decent salary and given respect all for being a member of some organization. She wasn't about to throw it all away in some misguided notion of _pride_.

"Y-yes."

"Good."

The pressure against her skull eased itself, and Mr. 5 casually patted her on the cheeks like she was a pet.

"Be a good little secretary, and you'll live and be the happiest woman in the world."

Then, he turned around and continued walking as though he had not just completely and utterly shattered whatever self-worth she had.

* * *

XXXXXXX

* * *

Not exactly how I'd have liked things to go, but I didn't have charisma for shit, and I could only rely on the basics of drama class and acting that I'd remembered from my time in college.

As much as I liked Miss Valentine, there was still no denying the fact that she was canonically rather very, _very_ useless. The more I remembered about the situation, the more I felt that relegating her to lackey role wasn't a bad decision.

She was ultimately beaten by Vivi and Nami.

 _Vivi and Nami._

 _Someone with a Devil Fruit was beaten by a princess and a thief who both had little combat experience._

If she lost to _them_ of all people, there was no way in the world she could survive on the Grand Line on her own. Hell, how in the world would she survive in _East Blue?_ Someone like Don Krieg or Arlong or Kuro would turn her into mincemeat and force her to become a serviceable minion. Any halfway competent pirate crew on the Grand Line could beat her, and this was the _Paradise_ part of the Grand Line. In the New World?

HAH.

She'd be dead in seconds.

…I _probably_ would have felt the same way about myself, but there was no denying the fact that I felt _drunk_ on power right now. Every muscle and every single fiber of my being sung with potential for explosions of catastrophic capabilities. I wanted to know what the max kiloton yield I could put out was. Hell, I wanted to know what the max _megaton_ yield I could put out was. Could I nuke an entire city with a full body explosion? An entire island? An entire country?

More interestingly, where did my ability as a "Bomb-Human" end? Could I add effects to my explosions? Could I make Ice Bombs or different types of 'bombs' that possessed varying effects?

There was so much to do, so much to experiment with.

Of course, there was also the problem of deciding what to do about… _canon_.

We'd almost reached the center stage where the Millions had fought against Zoro and lost _horribly_ , and I was slightly conflicted about what to do in this situation. If I let everything play out _exactly_ like it had in canon, that would mean letting myself get my ass kicked after standing around blabbing my intentions like a third-rate mook. None of which were things that I found even _remotely_ interesting to do.

Option B was to try and _steer_ things in a similar vein to canon. Ensure Vivi followed the Straw Hat Pirates, ensure they got to Little Garden, ensure Nami gets sick and goes to Drum Island to recruit Chopper, ensure they fight Crocodile and have Nico Robin join their crew.

Except, I didn't _want_ to do that. That was… _stressful_ , _boring_ , trying to do my best to make sure things worked out exactly as they had before? Why? What did I have to gain except to 'retain' knowledge of the future? Why would I even waste so much effort trying to get these people to meet and making things remain as they had?

Nope. No way.

The name of the show was _One Piece_ , not _Luffy and Friends' Glorious Adventures._

If my interference changed events… so fucking be it.

 _So, what exactly am I going to do?_

As of now, Mr. 5 was a relative nobody. I wasn't even sure if I had a bounty yet. I could choose to remain as a Bounty Hunter, get fame and money that way by hunting down notorious pirates. I could choose to join the Marines, probably work my way up to Vice-Admiral. Or, I could choose to go down the life of piracy.

Bounty Hunting would get me money, but it would mean constantly engaging in life-or-death duels with dangerous opponents just to earn a paycheck. Even worse, the higher the bounty, the more dangerous the opponent. I might be a bomb-man, but I wasn't a _suicidal_ one.

Being a Marine would suck because I was not down for a militaristic lifestyle, nor did I entertain the thought of being a lackey at someone's beck-and-call.

As a Pirate, however, my major concerns would be fighting off Bounty Hunters and Marines… and other enemy Pirates. Benefits, of course, included the freedom to steal and pillage and ransack as much as I wanted and live as bullshittingly frivolous as possible. No one to tell me what to do, where to go, who to work for, or _anything_ of the sort. I'd just… be doing whatever I wanted.

Like a bloody maniac.

 _The freedom of the sea…_

Just the promise of freedom alone was enough to make me go for that option. It was something I'd had very little of in my life. Working a tireless 9-5 job as a _lackey_ for the CEO of my company's spoilt brat of a son. Going back to a small apartment and scrounging myself something half decent to eat from the fridge or ordering takeout. Sitting down and streaming anime, reading manga or playing FPS and RPG Games through the night, before waking up the following morning to do it all over again.

I hadn't contacted my friends since we graduated college and went our separate ways. I had a few work acquaintances, but they wouldn't go into a depressed state if I suddenly went missing. I hadn't had a girlfriend since college, almost five fucking years ago, and hadn't gotten laid in over three… four years now?

To go from living the life of a cog-in-the-machine to suddenly finding myself in a world that emphasized freedom via the fast fucking ocean and legions of pirates…

 _It was too good to be true._

A part of me wanted to thank the bastard that was my boss for letting me follow him unto that yacht for his birthday celebration. If I'd never fallen into the ocean, I doubted I'd be here. Assuming, of course, _here_ is real, and I hadn't somehow found myself in my own weird, twisted version of the afterlife.

If this _was_ the afterlife, would this be considered hell, or heaven?

"Mr. 5."

I was drawn from my thoughts by Miss Valentine's voice, and it only now occurred to me that I was heading in a different direction from where I was _supposed_ to go.

"Yes, Miss Valentine?"

"Our target is –"

"In that direction." I nodded. "I am aware."

"But we're –"

"Scouting." I said simply. I turned to face her, blonde hair and green eyes and all, and I was glad for my shades which obscured my eyes otherwise she'd have noticed my eyes trailing over her form. Her gown was a bit on the short side, but I wasn't complaining.

There were no 'nudity-standards' in this world. No oppressive religion shoving down rules of 'decency' and 'modesty' down people's throats, and very little cultural biases towards the showing of skin. I also wondered how sexist or unsexist this world was when it came to women's roles.

"Lift yourself into the air, high enough to scout over the town and tell me what you see."

She gave me an odd look, but didn't complain as she opened her umbrella – parasol? – and leapt into the air. I clapped my palms together, generating a small explosion of thick smoke and fire that _echoed_ with the ring of a gunshot, and the winds sent Miss Valentine soaring higher and higher into the sky.

"… Does she know I can see her underwear from here?"

Probably not. I sighed. Really, the _one_ attack and move you could think of to use with your Devil Fruit… and it flashes everyone who looks up at you. Maybe she didn't care? Did she? I mean, in a world filled with giant monsters, vicious pirates, a crazy, erratically-changing ocean, a corrupt Marine force, and 'Celestial Dragons' who supported and partook in institutionalized slavery, what was a little flashing of some underwear?

… Now that I thought about it, if I'd been _born_ here or _reincarnated_ here as a normal human being… then yes, this would be _hell_. _Definitely_ hell. Christ, there were so many damned things here out to kill you, and the 'good guys' weren't actually the _good guys_ , and more or less "morally-grey/ambiguous guys."

Miss Valentine landed back on the ground without so much as a sound and without remotely disturbing the earth. I took note of that. Her power was to either increase or decrease her weight at will, wasn't it?

"It's pathetic. The Millions are scattered around everywhere. Many of them are dead, others are bleeding out from sword wounds. 'Miss Wednesday' and 'Mr. 8' are down as well."

So, it was the moment then. This was the moment Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine were supposed to make their debut.

"I also noticed…" Miss Valentine continued. "The Swordsman is sitting on a roof, drinking, and there is a girl skulking around, hiding behind a wall."

Zoro and Nami. Yep.

I took in a deep breath.

 _Meet them, don't meet them, meet them, don't meet them –_

Ah fuck it.

"Miss Valentine," I said simply. "We're going to make a nice entrance."

* * *

XXXXXX

* * *

The Swordsman was stronger than they expected.

 _Too strong_.

What sort of monster could take on a hundred men on his lonesome without so much as to stop in hesitation? What sort of person could handle their best attacks and shrug them off without care?

She'd always known that the Grand Line was host to different varying types of monster wearing the thin veneer of men, but she had no idea that such things were capable. Throughout her entire operation instigating herself into the folds of Baroque Works, her journeys and missions had not crossed her against the path of such monsters.

Worse, there were probably monsters _stronger_ than this swordsman in Baroque Works. None of the members knew anything truly about each other, but, she knew, the Officer Agents from rank number 5 and up were truly disastrous. Rumors about their abilities and strength were exaggerated enough that it was hard to tell which was true and which wasn't.

She however, did not expect, that they would be capable of something like… _this_.

He came from the _sky_. Dropping straight and center into the alleyway like a bird diving into water. His landing brought along with it a shockwave of air and pressure and an echoing _boom_ that made her eardrums ring from the sound. The ground where he landed on was reduced to a small, smoldering crater, even as the tall, dark-skinned, sunglasses wearing man landed in a soft crouch, his knees bent, and his head bent low.

She noticed, there was a woman lying comfortably on his shoulders, as though she weighed very little, and it was only until the thick, _echo_ of cracking bones rung out from his body that the woman shifted off, moving to his right side, and the man straightened, his visage a calm, stony one as his thick shades obscured his eyes.

Even with the glasses, she could tell that he was looking _straight at her_.

"M-Mr. 5! M-Miss Valentine!" she heard Mr. 9 exclaim in shock. She could not blame him. Officer Agents, here? In Whiskey Peak? In the Front Lines? It was unusual.

A slow dread filled up her stomach.

 _Do they know?_

"T-the swordsman –"

"Shhh."

The cold, shushing voice of Mr. 5 cut off Mr. 9 effortlessly. Shivers ran down her spine as she took in the appearance of Mr. 5. His posture, his look, his _air_.

 _Dangerous_.

Every single thing about him spoke of _danger_. _Strength_. _Power_.

Miss Valentine didn't give off that same vibe. No, if anything, the blonde woman was submerged in Mr. 5's intimidating aura. She seemed small, standing beside him, in more than just the physical sense. Her posture and stance did not speak of people who were equals and partners as per the rule of Officer Agents being assigned a female partner. No, she was a _subordinate_.

Mr. 5 hadn't spoken, he hadn't made any threatening moves or gestures, and he had done nothing other than shush Mr. 9, but she could feel sweat building up in her palms and her heartbeat getting faster. She noticed she wasn't the only one who was unnerved by the man's stoic expression and silence. After appearing from the sky in such a manner, only to stand and stare at them –

"Miss Wednesday."

She went ramrod stiff at hearing her codename being called out. "Y-y-yes? Mr. 5?"

"Mr. 8."

At hearing Igaram's codename, she _knew_ that they'd been exposed.

"Y-y-yes?"

"Mr. 0 has a task for you both."

 _He knows. He knows –_

Igaram's gaze turned to her, a look on his face that she knew. _No, don't – you'll –_

"W-what about the Swordsman, and the p-pirates?" he was trying to buy them time.

Mr. 5 tilted his head slowly. "I have no business with them."

"B-b-but, one of them has a Thirty Million Beli Bounty, and the s-swordsman –"

"Are you refusing a direct order? Mr. 8?"

Igaram wavered. "No – of course not, I'm only saying, he – he knows about Baroque Works, the swordsman, and secrecy is our –"

"Miss Valentine." Mr. 5 called out suddenly.

"Y-yes?"

"Kindly silence Mr. 8."

 _Silence?_

She grit her teeth as she wondered _how_ Miss Valentine would –

The woman began _floating_ up into the air, only for her to stop when Mr. 5's hand outstretched and grabbed her ankle. Vivi noticed how Miss Valentine seemed to _freeze_ and go white and the action.

"Not in your _usual_ flashy manner." Mr. 5 said. "I said _silence_ , not _obliterate_."

Vivi shuddered at that tone. _Was she that powerful?_

"A-ah, yes," Miss Valentine dropped to the ground. "I'll –"

"Ensure your hands aren't _too_ heavy. I don't want him dying by mistake."

 _Her hands?_

"M-my hands?"

"Yes. _Just_ your hands." Mr. 5 said. "I know it's one of your _weaker_ techniques, but we don't need to go all out on small fry."

The fact that Mr. 5 seemed to be the one giving all the orders didn't instill Vivi with any confidence. Even more so, she was less confident when Miss Valentine strode forward, moving in front of the prone Igaram –

"W-wait, I'm – GAH!"

She _punched_ him.

Except, it didn't look so much as though he'd been _punched,_ and more as though she struck him with a heavy iron club, straight to the side of his head.

"IGARAM!"

He was knocked unconscious in _one_ _blow._

Miss Valentine momentarily stared at her palms, as though seeing them for the first time, causing Vivi to wonder if the woman miscalculated how much power she'd used into the blow. The Princess of Alabaster desperately hoped the woman had used _too_ _much_ , rather than _too little_.

"How much was that?" Mr. 5 asked the woman.

"O-one thousand kilograms." She said, sounding breathless.

"Ah. So you _held back_. That's good."

 _That was holding back?_ Vivi grit her teeth as she forced herself to stand to her feet. She couldn't die here – and – and she couldn't leave Igaram here either –

"CARUE!" she called.

"SQUAAACK!"

In a blur, the animal appeared by her side, giving her enough time to climb onto it, as she stared down Mr. 5.

"He sent you didn't he?! He sent you to kill me, Mr. 0!"

Mr. 5 tilted his head. "Do you really have to ask such an obvious question?"

She grit her teeth at the response. "You – do you even –"

"Shhhhhh."

He _shushed_ her.

"At this juncture, a lesser man would mock you. Insult your pride and purpose. Demean your existence. Gloat about his superiority. State the futility of your struggle." Mr. 5 said in a _bland_ tone. "I'm not a lesser man."

Again, she _shuddered_. Heat, scorching _heat_ seemed to emit from Mr. 5's form in such a manner that defied explanation.

"Attempt to run or attempt to fight, and you will die. That is all."

The words held so much conviction in them, _that she believed it_.

Mr. 5 was not like the rest of Baroque Works. He was a consummate professional. He wasn't here to joke, or to waste time, or to brag or gloat or do things which Vivi had long since associated with those who were deluded in their power. There was an eerie, unnatural conviction about him that evocated a sense of danger and authority.

Regardless of what it was about him that made him so dangerous, she knew that she would die if she remained here. She would die if she attempted to run. She would _definitely_ die if she fought against him. Against such odds, the least she could do was _try_.

"Wait, I don't understand, Miss Wednesday, why are they trying to kill you? What is going on?!"

Mr. 9 spoke up, confusion adamant on his face. Vivi had almost forgotten about him, in lieu of Mr. 5's appearance.

"Miss Valentine. Kindly silence Mr. 9."

Mt. 9's eyes bulged. "W-wait! S-silence _me?_ Why would you – "

Miss Valentine was upon him instantly, her ferocious right hand slamming against his cheek and echoing with the sound of breaking bones before he crumpled to the ground in a defeated heap.

"Mr. 9!"

"Can I silence her as well? She's starting to become an annoyance." Miss Valentine asked, a large smile on her face.

Mr. 5 casually shrugged. "As you will."

Miss Valentine rushed towards her, and she grit her teeth as she bucked her hips, gesturing to Carue. "We need to save Igaram! Hurry!"

"QUAAA!"

He _blurred_ past Miss Valentine, moving closer and closer to Igaram's prone form –

" **Allah Akbar.** "

The horizon went white.

* * *

XXXXXX

* * *

Here's an interesting question. There's a man whose _boogers_ are capable of creating massive explosions that can leave a wake of devastation through _buildings_ and _solid rock_ , destroying them in seconds. His _breath_ can be blown into a gun and shot out with the equivalent force of numerous simultaneous hand-grenade explosions. His _kicks_ are explosive enough to utterly wipe out three men within close vicinity, and leave their bodies as charred remnants of meat and flesh, with the residue of the explosion being a crater the size of an Olympic swimming pool.

What happens when this man decides to simultaneously explode his _entire_ _body?_

The answer would normally be the complete and utter carnage of every living and non-living thing in the vicinity.

 _Normally_ , however, because this man is also capable of _controlling_ his explosions, and, hence, is capable of making an explosion _within_ an explosion. The first, being an explosion of nothing but pure _shockwaves_ and _concussive force_ , sending objects and people _soaring away_ like as though they'd been _FUS ROH DAH'd._ Then, the second, main explosion, being all the _good stuff_ , like the wall of sheer heat and fire.

I'd been standing on an island before. A nice, large island, and I'd been on a street, a nice, cool street, filled with dozens and dozens and dozens of houses. Now?

Now, I was standing in a smoky plain. A savannah of smoldering ash and thick debris. A nice grassland with neither grass nor land, and no building in sight, literally, with _no building within my range of sight._

Being at the epicenter, I was, of course, in a bit of a rather large crater, kind of like the ones we see in pictures of mars or the moon. I couldn't even _begin_ to estimate its size, but if I were, I'd wager about a dozen soccer fields… somewhere close to one or two _fucking_ _kilometers_.

The best part of it?

 _It didn't feel like my maximum output._

I wasn't really _focusing_.

 _Trying_.

I'd used more effort clenching my butt-cheeks or making my dick dance while it was erect than I'd used to make that explosion.

I stood in the middle of the crater, patting myself, and ensuring, that there wasn't a single hair out of place on my body.

…Actually, there wasn't _anything_ out of place on my body. How had I not noticed this before?

 _Why didn't my clothes blow up?_

Come to think of it, devil fruit wielders never went naked when using their powers, otherwise fangirls would have squealed whenever Ace got _fired up_ , because his clothes would be gone when he went back to normal.

 _Oh – oh – this has potential._

My gaze flickered upwards, to the sight of someone floating down softly with a yellow parasol – umbrella? – and I blinked at the realization that she was still alive.

I took it back. My powers worked _excellently_ with Miss Valentine's. Reducing her mass and floating like the breeze, she could and would always be able to get out of the truly devastating effects and ranges of my blasts without much harm. No one else, short of some logia-wielders, would be capable of doing the same.

Of course, I wasn't exactly endearing her to me, and no doubt, from high up, she'd have a truly unique view and scale of the carnage… and if she was terrified of me _before_ …

The truth was, I hadn't _known_ or _expected_ my full body explosion to have that much power. Like I said, it was almost _effortless_. Somehow, a full-body explosion felt more effortless than blowing up individual body parts or focusing on my sweat or feet.

Was it this way with all devil fruits? Using your fruit abilities on your whole body at once being natural and easier than focusing it on other parts or other functions? If so, it would explain why Miss Valentine seemed to have preferred to simply just focus on using her devil fruit ability to modify her weight and not her arms or legs. It was just… _easier_.

Miss Valentine eventually landed beside me, and she was _definitely_ more terrified of me now than she was not too long ago.

"Our mission is complete." I said to her simply. "We're heading back."

She didn't have it in her to complain, and she merely nodded her head sharply. No doubt, she thought that Vivi, Igaram, and the Straw Hats (along with everyone else on this island) were dead by now.

It _was_ a possibility, but I knew for certain that Luffy would still be alive. Rubber doesn't explode very well. Zoro, through sheer grit would _probably_ survive. Nami – not so much, but, there wasn't really much I could do in that aspect. Seducing her would have taken too much effort, and kidnapping her would have made me too much enemies.

Vivi however?

The odds were 50-50 to her survival. Another shame, such a damn fine woman gone to waste, but – when you're an indiscriminate bomber, these things tend to happen.

I placed my hand casually in my pocket and began a slow march for wherever the sea was, and wherever our ship was docked.

For now, I was a loyal employee of Baroque Works. Right up until Crocodile's plans paid fruition, in which case, if I didn't like what was being offered, I'd grill a croc, nab a flower, and find myself with a kingdom of my own.

Not bad at all for a serial suicide bomber.

"E-erm, M-M-Mr. 5…"

"Hmm?"

"O-o-our ship is the other way."

"Oh." I said simply. "Thank you."

"Yes, sir. N-not a problem."

" _Sir_?"I asked, turning to look at her. She froze up.

"I-if you don't like it, I'll –"

"No, no," I shook my head. "I like it just fine. But, when we're alone, you can call me something a bit more casual."

"W-what do I call you?"

I tilted my head a bit, before smiling.

"You can call me… V."


	3. Explosions Are Your Best Friend

**Experimented with upping the quality of my writing at the beginning of this chapter. Wonder if anyone'll notice the reference?**

 **Also, I'm gonna be obvious and point this out. This is going to be a story about a guy being a pirate. A _legit_ pirate. Pirates are not fucking good people or nice guys. Pirates rape, murder, pillage and are generally greedy assholes.**

 **Don't fucking expect a protagonist who's going to sing and dance and share goodness and cheer.**

 **D** **on't expect anything about the One Piece world to be censored or filtered like the bloody anime/manga.**

 **This Story was inspired by Cambrian Beckett's _"This World, My Oyster"_ if you've ever read that fic, or even skimmed it, you know what you're getting into. Violent deaths, rape, gore - expect it in copious amounts and don't expect trigger warnings.**

 **This is Fan Fiction motherfuckers.**

 **The Uncensored Cesspool of Human Imagination.**

* * *

 **I Am Mr. Five**

* * *

Quivering and _shuddering_ in a sweaty mire, her hips danced to jingles of frolicking hands. Digits speedily cavorting through her sensitive snatch in a plethora of noiseless flares; words failed her. Her mind stumbled, desperately attempting to reconcile two conflicting opinions. Her cognitive dissonance aided and abetted in deriving an amplified sense of sickening ecstasy, even as her lips parted and a punitive moan escaped traitorously from her lips.

 _It shouldn't feel this good_ –

 _Kami it shouldn't feel this good –_

Her gyrating hips disagreed. Her wheezed breaths and soft whimpers assisted in vocalizing that disagreement. Fingers stroked moist wetness like sickles reaping rice-fields, and her back curved like a bow fully drawn. Spots and starlight danced in her vision, her own voice singing a melody she was unaware she knew. Sensations of infinitesimally small shockwaves bombarded her like an unfortunate pirate vessel in the midst of a marine armada. Her clenched teeth could no longer hold back the burst dam of treacherous desire.

She _moaned_.

Her legs danced inelegantly to the sound her voice and the evidence of her accomplished arousal. Latitude, longitude, time, location and reason were disregarded as she descended further into the chasm of pleasure, the depths perhaps grander than the very line they were on.

The sound of her own heavy breathing blended with that of crashing waves. Her body lay, exhausted, unwillingly and disloyally refusing to move. The reason for her exhaustion stood over her, thick sunglasses never removed from his vision, as his lips quirked, if only slightly, at her form.

"And to think, you almost missed out on all this."

Her cheeks burned hotly. Indignation overtook her mind at the reminder. "I… didn't know you could…"

"Make microscopic explosions?" he asked, amused. "Or, you didn't know that I could tone down my explosions to such a level that was non-damaging and non-lethal?"

 _Of course she didn't_. How could she? Her memory still burned heavily with the scent and sight of an island covered in soot and ash. Of a fireball that extended to the heavens and curved back onto the land like the parasol of the devil himself. Of the one hundred unfortunate bounty hunters who had become but mere chunks of burning meat and bone and organs.

She shuddered in a way that had nothing to do with pleasure. Mr. 5, or as he now wished to be called, V, possessed the power to end armies and annihilate cities with as much nonchalance as a boy requested to fetch a pitcher of water. Perhaps even less, as she remembered that he was not even marginally worn out from casual decimation of Whiskey Peak.

 _And he's my partner –_

The part of her that heavily desired to flee from him with her voice screeching to the high heavens until her mouth could produce no more saliva and her lungs intake no more air was curbed. Curbed, countered, by the part of her that saw an opportunity for wealth and riches and _more_ beyond anything she'd possibly envisioned. She would etch herself to him like a shameful tattoo, and find herself reaping untold benefits for merely being his acquaintance and aid. She would live, as he had called her, a relatively _parasitic_ existence. Or perhaps, euphemistically, like a fire-proof moth drawn to a conflagration.

All she truly had to offer him was herself. She'd possessed numerous reservations about the concept, all of which had melted away along with the afterglow of the dozen orgasms she'd had from his fingers. From _just_ his fingers.

She'd never ever, in a dozen, hundred, or perhaps thousand years, consider the possibility of explosions having _anything_ to do with sexual pleasure. Until miniature consecutive shockwaves rocked her insides with vibrations that sent her to nirvana.

"Come on." He said, spreading her legs shamelessly. "Round two. This time, with my tongue."

He licked his lips, and she watched as a small _boom_ appeared on the edges of the muscle that lay in his mouth. She recalled, suddenly, that _every part of his body_ could generate explosions, so that meant –

She was never going to enjoy sexual relations with normal people after this.

A long wet organ stroked against her delicate snatch with a series of silent tremors, and her legs clutched against his head as her body shook madly from ecstasy.

Her pleasured screams did not reduce in volume or frequency over the long night.

* * *

XXXXXXXX

* * *

 _Imagination_ was the building block that enabled everything. _Finesse_ was the tool and handyman that utilized that imagination. Together? They were a tag-team of builders with the ability to build anything. As long as they were unlimited, what they could build, too, was unlimited.

I stretched my hands out and yawned at the naked and sleeping form of Miss Valentine. We hadn't gone _all the way_ , because I was getting a feel for her and also testing out interesting new applications of my power. Massive explosions were fantastically epic, beautifully majestic, and pant-shittingly terrifying, but minor, tiny explosions also had their benefits. From boosting my striking power, to the realization that I could generate _vibrations_ with enough shockwaves – I really, _really_ wondered why exactly the idiot who'd inhabited this body before me had not become a Yonko.

I reached for Valentine's blanket, shaking my head at the design of chocolate cakes all over it, before casting it over her sleeping body. She'd be out like a light for a while, courtesy of a full-night of consecutive orgasms.

My dick was _hard_ , but I hesitated on going that far because I _still_ didn't know what would happen if I got _too_ excited and blew my load into her. Let's say, for example, into her mouth. The last thing I needed was to go from getting some great oral, to being covered in bloody chunks of brain matter.

I exited the deck of the _Pop Rock Candy_ , which, I'd discovered from Miss Valentine, was the name of our sailing vessel. The clear night sky extended openly with more stars than I could possibly count, far more beautifully than literally anywhere I'd ever seen or known before. The stars were endless in their number, and the moon hung tranquilly amongst them.

The ship rocked and swayed softly, and my gaze reached out for the sights and the horizons. This world… It was beautiful. _Aesthetically_ anyway.

The Grand Line was devoid of noise or distractions. No car horns or the irritating buzz of traffic. No thick smells of smoke and acrid pollution. No noisy children or someone playing loud angry rap music. Just…

The wind in my face. The cool sea breeze. The stirring of life beneath waters. The soft lashing and crashing of waves.

"…I never knew the ocean could be so… calming." Oh, the Grand Line was _anything_ but calm, with sea-kings and vicious pirates, government conspiracies and a numerous, uncountable number of different fucked up things, part of which I'd no doubt be adding to… but regardless, finding myself on this ship, sailing through the ocean…

The wind picked up. Fast paced winds that howled like a pack of injured wolves.

"You couldn't let me just admire your beauty in peace for five bloody seconds, could you?"

I dashed straight for the rudder, checking the Log Pose attached to it to make sure it was still pointing in the way we were _supposed_ to go, but swearing as I realized the _Pop Rock Candy_ was swerving to the left. Starboard? West? Fuck whatever the correct nautical terms were, I didn't know them.

"Damn it… Valentine!"

Except, she was asleep and was going to remain asleep for a long, long while. It was up to me to steer us out of potentially dangerous waters.

Thunder _crashed_ in the sky above us and I swore as I noticed the sudden storm clouds. It was crystal clear less than a few goddamned seconds ago, but I remembered from the Manga and Anime that the Grand Line had a fucked up weather that was considered unpredictable and insane, even by the inhabitants of this world. By my world standards, the Grand Line would probably make the most seasoned of sailors weep in frustration.

Winds coalesced into a god-forsaken _cyclone_ that popped up directly in front of the ship and I lost every damn bit of my temper at the sheer bullshit speed that it'd formed. For fuck's sakes how did we go from a peaceful, clear starry night to _this_ in a matter of seconds?

Sailing normally was out of the question. I didn't have the experience to sail in a calm sea with no breeze, and I wasn't going to suddenly learn how to maneuver a ship in the middle of a bloody typhoon. I locked the wheel into place to ensure the ship didn't spin too much, before exploding my hands and shooting myself up into the air, until I propelled myself _forward_ and almost cursed at the insanity of _flying towards a fucking hurricane_.

If I fell into the ocean, it was game-over. I'd sink like a rock to the bottom, and die a pathetic second death. I pushed aside that thought and instead focused on the winds and particularly on the cyclone, before charging as much of my power as I could through my arms.

You see, I was a _bomb_ human. I'd been thinking about it over and over and over again, and realized, nowhere did it state I was an _explosion_ human, which would be a different, but slightly similar thing. The name of the fruit Mr. 5 had eaten had been the Bomb-Bomb fruit. It was true that all conventional bombs did was explode. Yes, but what exactly _was_ an explosion? What _was_ a bomb?

The literal definition is that a bomb is an explosive weapon that uses the exothermic reaction of explosive material to provide an extremely sudden and violent release of _energy_. Sparing the boring details, an _exothermic process_ is a little thing in thermodynamics that releases energy from a system (i.e. me) to its surroundings, usually in the form of _heat,_ (the fire from my explosions), _light_ , (the spark and flash that follows my explosions) or _sound_ (the sounds from my explosions.) _Pressure_ was also generated as a result of this, all of which when combined gave of the beauty that was an explosion.

Strong winds whipped at me as I exploded my feet and soared closer to the heart of the cyclone, the wind blurring in my ears as I brought up my hands in an X-Shape.

I essentially emitted three (technically four) different forms of 'energy' every single time I used my powers. I didn't know of any other devil fruits that could claim to do the same thing. It was even made more absurd when I realized the sheer _speed_ provided by my ability to generate these different forms of energy. The standard _C-4_ extend at a rate of 26,400 _feet per second_ (8,050 meters per second).

For reference, the _speed of_ _sound_ is only about 1,125 feet per second, or 343 meters per second. For additional reference, that meant that the speed of a _standard detonation_ was _Mach 24_. For final, definitive reference, lowballing it, the _slowest speed_ of an explosion was about _3000 feet per second_ , which is still _Mach 2_.

Where was I going with all this?

" **November Fifth.** "

God himself applauded.

Ineffable _blasts_ of kinetic energy and ear-drum shattering _booms_ echoed across the vast ocean, dwarfing thunderclaps like a battleship dwarfed a floating cork. Shockwaves _bombarded_ the flimsy typhoon, stripping away its contents like a street ruffian through the unsuspecting pockets of oblivious tourists. The clouds in the sky parted as though Moses himself had commanded them to abscond, and waves rose up in salute as shockwaves displaced water.

Less than two seconds after the release of my technique, the sea was as calm, if not perhaps calmer than I remembered. The sky once more revealed the beautiful twinkling stars, and I maintained a steady blast of explosions from my feet to hop in the air, glancing at my handiwork in satisfaction.

The sea was a dangerous foe, but once again, I found myself saved by the age-old maxim that provided words of wisdom:

 _There is no problem in the world that cannot be solved with the suitable application of explosive force_.

As a Bomb-Man, I had _plenty_ of explosive force to spare.

"RAAAAWWWRRRR!"

…And it seemed that I awoke the local Sea Kings with my explosion. My right eye twitched irritably beneath my sunglasses as three leviathans-in-goldfish-skin rose from the depths of the sea, dwarfing _everything_ I'd ever seen in my lifetime. Seeing it on an animated screen or in the panels of a black-and-white book did not do justice to the creatures that would slap in the face of Ahab, and spit in the eye of Moby Dick.

"Jesus-fucking-Christ."

I knew these things was not even the largest Sea Kings alive. Yet, I hopped in the air like a gnat buzzing annoyingly in the earlobes of an elephant. The largest Boeing 747 in the world would be like a Chihuahua in comparative size. The Sperm Whale or the Great Blue Whales I'd seen in picture books and movies, would be sardines stuck irritably within the spaces of their teeth.

"…fuck you Oda."

Had I been anyone else, this would have been the moment I crawled into a fetal position, wet my pants consecutively and hoped that people attributed the stain to water splashes from the ocean. That sentiment doubled when the god-forsaken _titan_ - _goldfish_ _leapt_ into the air at the same time in an attempt to swallow me into the deep black chasm that was their stomachs.

"…fuck you to hell."

Thus I found myself literally within the jaws of the beast(s).

" **ALLAHU AKBAR."**

* * *

XXXXXXXXXX

* * *

 **Alabaster**

"…he _what_?"

He removed the cigar from his mouth. Lightly dropping it on the table before him, his gaze narrowed and his back straightened. He gripped the Den-Den Mushi tighter, even as he received the report from his agents.

"…the entire island?"

A grand mix of annoyance and irritation surged deep within him. "I see."

It was unfortunate, and had it been any other situation, he would have chosen to reward the agent with a promotion, but such a feat of destruction and carnage could not be swept under the rug easily. The lives of the members of the Millions on Whiskey Peak held no true value to him, but their income revenue did. More than that, the marines were already looking into the issue. The destruction of islands on the Grand Line did not occur frequently enough for it to be swept under the rug. The manner of the destruction being one so volatile was another problem.

Secrecy was paramount to the goal of their operation. Secrecy that could not and would not properly be maintained when one of the members of Baroque Works chose to draw the attention of the world unto himself.

More so was the motivations. He did not trust individuals that he was uncertain of his ability to control or lead. Mr. 5's sudden boost in his competence and threat assessment could cause a change in his motivations. There was also the convenient fact that he'd completed his mission to order the assassination of the Princess, information which was vital and could not truly be trusted in the hands of such an individual.

Not that he trusted anyone, to begin with.

"…tell the rest of the Officer Agents, a kill order has been issued."

* * *

XXXXXXXXXX

* * *

 **Somewhere on the Grand Line**

"I'd been wondering about why I'd gotten such a fantastic deal in exchange for nothing, and wondering if I'd gotten into heaven. But… now, it kind of makes sense that I'm in hell."

The gargantuan fishbone I casually sat upon did not respond. Nor did the smoldering eyeball. Nor did the other floating masses of heavily burnt fish. The aroma was indeed appetizing, but the taste was rather bland and the meat was cooked unevenly because… _explosion_.

The same explosion that generated winds and shockwaves capable of, of course, sending ships sailing off into the horizon. As of after defeating the Sea-Kings and regaining my bearings, the _Pop Rock Candy_ was nowhere in sight. I couldn't even pick up any clues or details as to which direction the ship might have sailed into. That is of course, assuming the ship hadn't somehow sunk to the depths of Davy Jones' locker.

It'd been a few hours, and I found myself stranded on a giant fishbone, the remnants of one of my defeated adversaries.

"Fantastic."

Rather than moping around or patiently hoping and waiting that a passing ship would discover me somehow, I crossed my legs and sat as calmly as I could on a fishbone floating through the ocean, as my idea factory began to mass produce potential blueprints offering solutions.

I remembered from the anime that Devil Fruit abilities could be stretched to the logical extremes if one possessed enough finesse and imagination. For instance, _Doflamingo_ , the bloody dude who could _fly_ by connecting _strings to clouds_. Let's not even forget _Crocodile_ himself, Mr. 0, whose ability to control sand was somehow extended to being capable of _drying_ anything he touched and evaporating the water from it. That was tiers above what Gaara from _Naruto_ could do, and Gaara was a _demon_. Technically.

Then there was God Enel, one of my favorite one piece villains. His Goro-Goro Mi enabled him to become lightning, and he could move as fast as lightning, create _thunderclaps_ , and even _superheat gold_ to the point of shaping it into a giant, _perfectly spherical_ ball… in a matter of _seconds_.

"That's true…"

Heat wasn't lightning. It was an _aspect_ of it, but I remembered that scene from the anime clearly. Enel superheating gold to trap Luffy's arm. The fine-tuned control needed to generate enough heat to superheat _gold_ to its melting point, and then shape it _while in the middle of battle_ was absurd. Then again, he had his Mantra to –

I stopped. "…Mantra. Or rather… _Haki_."

I can't believe I _forgot_ about it.

I sat up straight as I tried to remember the name and the details. " **Kenbunshoku Haki…** I think it was called. That's the Spider-Sense one… isn't it? It's a mouthful. I think I'll just stick to calling it **Mantra** instead."

I remember there was some hype about a guy using it to see the future. Charlotte Kurikuri? Something like that. The last arc I remembered was Doflamingo's and Cesar's – and it was mostly bits and snippets. Likewise with the Vinsmoke arc. The only reason I even knew there was something like that was when I noticed Sanji's name suddenly having a surname in Google searches and filters. He was engaged to one of Big Mom's daughters… I think?

 _Focus_! I slapped my cheeks calmly as I tried to remember. _Mantra_. _Haki_. How does one go about using it? Enel was probably the one person in this world with the greatest mastery of it in terms of sheer range. He could pick up electromagnetic waves in the air and overhear conversations and every single thing around him.

"…waves huh?"

The sound of the crashing waves of water all around me filled up my hearing. The birds and seagulls. The wind gently whispering in the early morning sun.

I tore off a portion of my shirt, ripping the clothing material from my arm until it was big enough and thick enough to be properly utilized. I wrapped it against my eyes, tightening it as hard as I possibly could. Slowly, I inhaled, taking a deep, measured breath, counting, and then I exhaled.

My body was immune to explosions. That meant immunity to the deafening sound waves generated by them. If I wasn't immune to the sound, I'd have long since gone deaf or possess permanent hearing damage each and every time I detonated myself. I could also generate shockwaves, and although they had 'waves' in their name, shockwaves were not necessarily the same as soundwaves. Shockwaves _surpassed_ the speed of sound and travelled faster than sound did. Regardless, my sound _still travelled_.

I focused sharply on my hearing. _Just_ my hearing. I doubted I'd pick up how to use **Mantra** in a day, even if I did essentially have the knowledge and framework of how it was supposed to work. No – learning Haki would be a long term project. However, for the shorter, more immediate term, I could cheat.

Controlling the destructiveness and the size of my explosions was something I learned to do to fool around. Yet, I channeled that control into a type of 'bomb' that I needed to create. A bomb that lacked heat or light, but had one type of 'energy' backing it. I felt it run throughout my entire body, rippling slowly with potential energy. Then, I _charged_ this energy into my ears and eardrums. I _focused_ my powers unto my inner-ears and tuned out everything else.

" **Dark Night.** "

 _BOOM!_

 _PING!_

I felt the explosion of nothing but pure _sound_ propagate from my _eardrums_ outward in a spherical dome. A normal man would be rolling on the floor and clutching his bleeding ears at this point, but I was anything but a normal man. The sound waves extended far, and I –

 _I could hear_.

The sound waves bounced off objects as they travelled, and I could… _hear them_. The numerous objects in the vast open sea. Rocks, stones, birds in the air, fish in the sea – for that singular, brief moment, I lived like a bat, picking up the sound of anything and everything within my vicinity as the explosion continued to travel.

"Now for the sequel…" I charged up smaller, tinier, explosions at frequencies most people would fail to hear. " **Dark Knight Returns.** "

 _BOOM!_

 _BOOM!_

 _BOOM!_

 _PING!_

 _PING!_

 _PING!_

Satisfaction rushed through me as I eventually picked up the sounds of sails flapping in the air, at least several hundred meters away the manner in which the echoes bounced back to me informing me of the length and details of the ship to absurd levels.

Human Echolocation was a thing most people did not know existed. I only learned about it one late night of watching _Discovery_ _Channel_ and waiting for my latest fix of _Mythbusters_ , the guys who explode stuff…. For _science_. Instead, I got _Penn and Teller Tell A Lie_ and learnt about the curious case of Benjamin Underwood, the real-life _Daredevil_ who'd been diagnosed with retinal cancer from age two, and learnt how to 'see' using echolocation.

"Random trivia facts are now becoming vital information to my survival." I chuckled at the realization. "Can't wait till I eventually figure out a use for knowing about the enlarged clitoris of a female hyena."

Picking up different sounds, I momentarily paused in contemplation about that.

"Now that I think about it…" Even if I didn't know _anything_ about the One Piece world, a person from my world would be a scholar here.

I was a run-of-the-mill average joe whose intellectual prowess was limited to amateur Chess competitions and several bored nights of clicking 'random page' on Wikipedia. My IQ was just slightly above average last I checked, and the only reason I knew so much about explosions was because they were _explosions_ , and I was a hot-blooded male who grew up watching Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone leap away from the glorious balls of fire with a damsel in one hand and a sweaty muscled body that I gullibly believed I would get when I grew older.

I could only imagine what would have happened if a genuine Nuclear Physicist, or even a regular Physics grad-student had been put in my place instead. There were probably ideas and prospects that I didn't even know _existed_ that these individuals would make use of. But, let's get back to the sheer knowledge at the power of the layman, majority of which have had access to the grandest archive of collective human information at the push of a button on a small black mirror.

Medicine? I knew about basic antibiotics and first aid. About sanitation and the importance of sterilization. I knew about botany and zoology from some casual watching of _Born Survivor_ and the _Animal Planet_.

Cooking? Please, even if I couldn't expertly recreate it, it wasn't like I haven't seen enough shows on _Food Network_ to remember some recipes and put them to decent use.

Music? I'd had access to over ten thousand songs and different instruments and styles that this world did not even know existed. I could play some songs on the piano, the flute, and the guitar.

Combat? In theoretical knowledge there were very few people in this world who could surpass me. It wasn't like they'd even know about Tae Kwon Doe, or Aikido, or Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, or just the straight up lethal submission maneuvers and boxing techniques that I'd seen and remembered from watching Muhammed Ali, Brock Lesnar or Connor McGregor. That's not even mentioning _fictional_ techniques that could be utilized.

The only gaps in my knowledge were in Geography, Archeology and Cartography. It was not bad, because some people couldn't cook or fight to save their lives, and others didn't even know the difference between and antibiotic and an analgesic. My major flaw was the inability to navigate or sail to save my life.

"… a person from the real world is a bit too knowledgeable in many, many aspects." I rubbed the side of my face, shaking my head and turning my 'gaze' out to the sea.

"I could probably use this knowledge to do a lot of good… but…" I snorted. "Most likely the World Government would try to take it and use it for their idiotic concept of justice."

I wasn't going to bother trying to do something so annoying. Making the world a better place was best done to a world that had the _potential_ to become a better place. The vast sea, insane monsters and deep-seated corruption were things that could not fade away overnight. It'd take _decades_ , and I wasn't about to spend my second life wasting away trying to improve this cesspool of a world.

"A shame they don't have internet or videogames here. I'm going to need a list of frivolous things to buy once I start raking in the gold."

My ears twitched as **Dark Knight** picked up movement in the water. Low frequency soundwaves bounced off of the object enabling me to make out its shape and form. An animal? No – yes – and animal… but… there was a person on it.

Female. Slender. Wearing a hat. The _animal_ as well was wearing a hat. The animal was… smoking a cigarette? I had to momentarily remind myself that this was a world of mermaids, fishmen, and sapient animals, no matter how absurd it sounded.

 _There are waterfalls that flow upward, and cities in the sky. Your definition of absurd is in dire need of an update._

I guess it's time to put my business face on.

* * *

XXXXX

* * *

She'd seen him from quite afar, using her powers. An odd sight, he made, sitting comfortably on the jagged white spine of a recently deceased Sea King. She could tell how recent it was from the sight of the large chunks of meat that were left in the ocean surrounding him, and the chunks she'd seen before approaching.

She contemplated her orders, momentarily, and then remembered the unholy sight she'd seen at Whiskey Peak that brought back uncomfortable memories of her childhood. The fact that it was, _genuinely_ , one person capable of truly producing that much carnage unsettled her. She would have instructed Banchi to avoid moving towards his location, had she not noticed the rough blindfold placed against his vision. Or had she not heard him muttering softly under his breath as his body seemed to be absolutely still.

Banchi approached him cautiously, the transportation turtle warily moving slowly towards him, no doubt as cautious as she felt. The blindfolded man merely sat still, his legs crossed as though he was in a meditative position. Despite surrounded by so much water, the likes of which were he to slip and fall into the ocean would mean certain death, he did not seem bothered.

"Miss All-Sunday."

Her official codename escaped his lips in a smooth enunciation. There was something odd about the manner in which he pronounced it. The manner in which he spoke it, as though understanding a joke a spirit had whispered into his ear.

The fact that he had not taken off his blindfold, yet, identified her and tilted his head in her direction made her curious, ever so slightly, and at the same time, it made her wary. "Mr. 5."

He tilted his head in slow acknowledgment. "Your turtle… is wearing a cap, and smoking a cigarette."

She turned to Banchi, indeed, of course, the transportation animal enjoyed his eccentricities. "So it seems."

Mr. 5 let out a silent breath. "Rather daring of you to approach me." The topic changed on a dime and she allowed herself _smile_.

"Is that so? Is there any reason I have to be afraid of you, Mr. 5?"

The blindfolded man nodded sharply. "You were present at Whiskey Peak."

 _How did he –_

"I do not believe you would choose to annoy Mr. 0 by eliminating his partner." She said, leaning back into her seat. Mr. 5's 'gaze' followed her, and it made her slightly more unnerved. There was no plausible explanation for why or how he'd detected her presence on the island.

"No, I would not." He acquiesced. "Not unless Mr. 0 makes the mistake of attempting to eliminate me."

She didn't flinch. Didn't move. Didn't do anything except allow herself to smile lest he somehow gleam the truth from her. His 'gaze' turned away.

"Of course, I doubt he'd do such a thing."

She _almost_ relaxed her tensed body. Almost.

"How many of them are alive?"

The question stopped her in her tracks, almost making her lose control of her expression. "You perhaps mean the Billions? I believe –"

"No. Not them." He said immediately. "The Straw Hats."

Her lips coiled into a tight smile. "You killed them all, didn't you?" He didn't respond, making the silence uncomfortable. Despite being at a higher _rank_ than he was, this conversation did not feel like she was a superior officer talking to her subordinate.

She'd worked with numerous criminal organizations in the past two decades. She knew, occasionally, that instances would occur in which her leadership or command would be questioned. It happened far too many times, and in those situations, she always maintained her cool and utilized her powers to quell any doubt or uncertainty. On the Grand Line, might made right. It was survival of the fittest, and it always had been. The very ocean and sea itself showed no mercy to the weak, and only the strongest from the Four Blues could ever hope to sail on it and survive.

The problem was, however, that she was not the stronger one in this encounter. Mr. 5, despite being a subordinate, possessed firepower that was inhumanly superior to anything she'd be capable of producing. He was a living _bomb_. Caution had to be exercised against a person who could but shrug, and reduce her to gory chunks.

"Can you outrun an explosion?" he began, almost casually. "Should I clap, you would be gone before you heard the sound."

Her smile tightened further. "Is that a threat, Mr. 5?"

"No." the blindfolded man shook his head. "Factual statements are not threats."

His 'gaze' fixed upon her, unerringly and unnervingly. She could not make out his eyes as they were obscured. His expression was as blank and unreadable as his thoughts. She disliked it. She'd preferred him to be a boisterous individual, or perhaps even a braggart, for those types of people were easy to read and easy to know what buttons to push and what not to push. His silence made him all the more dangerous.

He was a bomb with neither a timer nor a fuse. One that no one knew the conditions that would detonate it.

"How many of them survived?" he repeated.

"I just informed you –"

" **Ckya Blyat.** "

She couldn't see.

A sharp, piercing sound nearly punctured her eardrums as her vision went completely white. Her sense of sight and hearing robbed from her in a dual-pronged explosion of light and sound. Her ears rung heavily with a thick whining sound even as she tried to force herself to be capable of seeing again. She stumbled backwards on her vessel, and Manchi made a whining cry that made it clear that the creature had also been heavily disorientated from the assault.

She extended her arm forward and created a pair of eyes and ears on it as quickly as she could –

" **Cyka Blyat.** "

She regretted the action immediately. The heavy ringing sound in her ears multiplied a dozen times over, and she felt her vision worsen from the additional blast of light. She felt blood leak from her damaged eardrums from the cumulative damage, and grit her teeth hard as she tried to blink away the numerous spots in her eyes. Worse was her inability to hear anything other than the disorienting high pitched sound. She dizzily grasped for something to balance herself, only to fail and slip.

Terror burned through her as she crashed into the ocean and felt her strength vanish.

Water rapidly began filling her lungs as she lacked the strength or proper orientation to as much as struggle against the current. The salty seawater burned at her eyes as she found herself unable to move, her hand, frantically reaching up to the surface in a desperate gambit to survive.

 _I – I can't die here… die… like this – no – not like this –_

A warm hand roughly grabbed her wrist. With a jerking motion that almost disconnected her shoulder, she found herself pulled out of the ocean halfway, coughing and vomiting out the water that she'd swallowed as she wheezed and gasped for air.

Her hips and below was still submerged within the ocean, and she couldn't muster up the strength to move, yet alone use her devil fruit. It took everything she had to raise her gaze upwards, and to meet the blindfolded stoic face of Mr. 5.

"How many?"

"A-a-all of them." She said between desperate breaths.

"All." He repeated, and she felt his grip on her wrist tighten.

"Yes." She said quickly, grimacing at the pain. "But they're not in one piece. Some are missing a leg. An arm. An eye. Parts of a stomach. They're headed to find a doctor as soon as possible."

He seemed somewhat mollified by that. "And the Princess. She's still alive."

"Yes. She's -"

He let go of her, and her eyes widened as she began sinking again. "It's the tru –"

"Mr. 0 has a kill order on me." He said. "Yes or no."

Her head had nearly dipped back into the ocean as she coughed out her response. "Y-yes!"

He caught her by the wrist again, only partially bringing her out of the ocean. She couldn't even muster the strength to raise her head and look at him, yet alone use her powers.

"Mr. 0's true identity is the Shichibukai, Crocodile."

Her blood ran cold.

"Yes or no."

She hesitated. Her wrist slipped in his hand. If she told the truth, Crocodile would find out, and it would mean her death. If she didn't, Mr. 5 would drop her into the ocean and she would die regardless. The only difference was whether or not it was better to die now, or die later.

His hand let go of her.

"Yes!" she yelled out as she crashed into the ocean once more. His grip tightened again, holding her firmly, the only thing preventing her from drowning, the only thing saving her life, was his grip.

 _If she could just grab him –_

Pulling him into the ocean with her would lead to both of their deaths. But, if the alternative was being at his mercy –

He brought her fully out of the ocean, holding on to her with but a single hand, still blindfolded as he was, he leapt off the fishbone and jumped unto her transport, dropping her on the seat casually.

"Apologies." He said. "As the 79,000,000 Beli _Devil Child_ , Nico Robin, one cannot be too careful in ensuring the veracity of your words." The announcement of her true name and bounty made her freeze.

"Have a pleasant day."

 _BOOM!_

She rose her hands in defense, expecting the explosion of heat to overtake her. Rather, she watched as Mr. 5 propelled himself into the air, and with a sickening _crack_ of displaced air and pressure that signified the occurrence of an object breaking the sound barrier, he vanished off into the horizon, a small trail of steam and smoke all that was left of him.

* * *

 **XXXXX**

* * *

It was open season on the officer agents of Baroque Works.

I spun in the air, controlling the blasts of sound and heat that propelled me forward at ludicrous speeds, knowing full well that the normal body of a human being was not designed to handle the velocity. My blindfolds were still in place, and I navigated myself using my **Dark Knight**. The world would have been an indistinct blur were I to rely on eyesight while flying faster than sound.

Robin was a rather fun character, one of my favorites on the entire Straw Hat Crew. The only problem I had with her was that she was far _too_ perceptive. The type of person that I did not want on my crew or near me, because I would no doubt give away hints about my otherworldly origins. Aside from that, no matter how much my 'second head' wanted me to see how the real deal compared to the numerous hentai doujins, I relented because I had a form of respect for her.

That, and it'd be better for me to wait until the moment in which she decided to throw away her life before I approached her with any such intentions. I wasn't sure how the timeline would proceed now, but if Luffy and friends were still alive, there was the _possibility_ that she might still end up –

Oh, wait, that's right. _I'm_ going to kill Crocodile, not Luffy. So, no, she won't be joining the Straw Hats in this timeline.

My 'gaze' locked down on the familiar form of the _Pop Rock Candy_ , and I reduced the force of my explosions in order to slow down. I hovered a bit above the ship, creating contrasting blasts to bring myself to a full stop, before slowly descending down on the deck of the vessel.

"Mr – uh, I mean, V-sama?"

Miss Valentine stood, her brows arced high as she glanced up, no doubt trying to find out where I'd come from.

"Mr. 0 has put a kill order on us."

I watched as she froze in her tracks. "H-he – he did? B-b-but – why –"

"Because it's expected of villains to send an assassin, and then kill the assassin once he's completed his job in order to tie up loose ends." I explained simply, before finally pulling off the blindfolds. Miss Valentine's hair was a frazzled, and I noticed she was wearing a tank-top over her yellow miniskirt.

"So before we get to the next island, and before we head to Alabaster, I'm going to train you, to become the level of a Marine Commodore at the very _least_."

"T-train me… er, V-sama, why would you…?"

"Isn't it obvious?" I said, allowing a smirk on my lips. "I can't have a First Mate that's weaker than Marine cannon fodder."

…

Miss Valentine slowly blinked. Once, twice, a third time, before the words seemed to register in her head.

"A…. _What?!_ "


	4. Beware of Bombshells

**YES I'M STILL FUCKING ALIVE MOTHERFUCKERS!** **Despite constant death threats, whiners and trolls in my other works telling you otherwise, it'll be take more than an idiot writing a wall of text to drive me to suicide. Now, if he could offer some pills...**

 **ANYWAY... another chapter of this. Things are gonna move slowly for a while. Sloooowwwwly.**

* * *

 **Grand Line**

 **Pop-Rock Candy**

Nightmares often lacked a sense of surgical consistency characteristically possessed by the waking world. The topography of nightmares featured the erratic as the air, the asinine as trees and dirt, the petrifying and soul-clenching as the wildlife. Amongst which, one's own horrors silently straggled through the forests as whimsical predators awaiting inebriated prey.

"Dodge."

Her mind understood that she was not experiencing a nightmare. No, for the world was too vivid, the procession of events too fluid, and regardless of how much her beating heart demanded to burst from every close call with the supersonic projectiles that blurred past her body, there was the overwhelming realization: _this was real_.

"Dodge."

The tiny _boom_ followed, a pebble of rock propelled itself from a casual finger flick at rates that would send bullets into chronic bouts of depression. Her body, light enough for every movement of her feet to glide across the air, twirled away from the projectile. She focused on her power, focusing on her fingernails, and _only_ her fingernails _,_ and the increased weight of beautiful ornaments on her phalanges prevented her from soaring away from the gust of wind that accompanied the pebble.

"Attack."

She did not run. Running would imply that her feet departed from the surface and her body resisted gravity. No, she _drifted_. A mere step, focusing on her _toenails_ , boosting the weight of just those tiny parts of her body, while everything else remained. The transition did not bode well for her mind. _Drifting_ , as she called it, often left her disorientated, especially now, when she appeared before the stoic dark-skinned man without as much as a blur to accompany her motion.

Her right hand was extended, the weight changed, accompanied by the speed of her drift. The hand possessed a dangerous amount of force, should it connect. A comparison would be to load an elephant within a bullet.

The attack never connected. Literally, it _never_ connected. With god-forsaken reflexes that often left her questioning the mortality of the man before her, he casually side-stepped. Overextending, one part of her body weighing more than the other, she grit her teeth as she braced herself for the consequences of yet another failed assault.

 _Smack! Smack! Smack!_

Her cheeks burned. The ones on her face from indignation, the ones on her derriere from the stinging consecutive spanks that brought her to the floor.

"You fail."

She dropped to the deck of the boat, both her hands immediately grasping her behind and desperately rubbing them, to the ever-constant amusement of her torturer. "Not everyone has the reflexes of an explosion!"

"Increase the weight of your cheeks to prevent yourself from taking damage." He said, as though it wasn't one of the more ludicrous notions.

Yet, when he'd suggested only increasing the weight of her fingernails and toenails while reducing the weight of the rest of her body, she'd considered it another ludicrous idea as well. The ideas that sparked from the brain of the Bomb-Bomb human were often revolutionary, often awe-inspiring, often made her question why she had failed to utilize her power in such manners before. None of his suggestions so far failed to possess some merit, and she could see the exponential rate at which she grew.

A mere four weeks ago, the concept of _dodging bullets_ would have left her laughing at the idiot who tried to pull off such a feat. Now, she was dodging projectiles shot at rates _faster_ than normal bullets. Her speed… dear _god_ her speed… she never once contemplated that reducing her weight to One Kilogram and accelerating _herself_ , could make her this fast. She was nowhere near as fast as he was, the bloody _bomb-man_ who could move at the speed of _detonations_ , but she was capable of crossing short distances faster than the blink of an eye.

That was _literal_ , of course, as the monster before her did not let her rest until she could move from one end of their boat to the other end, and tag him _before he could blink_.

"As it is you should be potentially faster than Soru users but… it's still too slow."

"Too slow?" said Valentine, almost laughing. Almost.

"Yes."

"I move faster than the eye can blink."

"Too slow."

"I can dodge bullets."

"Too slow."

"What is _fast_ then?"

He paused. Silence, audible. "Light." Said V. "Light is fast."

She pursed her lips. Her head shook to the side slowly. "You're crazy." The epiphany was not novel. "I can't move as fast as light."

"Won't."

Shaking her head, faster. "I _can't_. Physically."

"You said the same thing when I told you to cross the deck before I blinked."

"This is different." She stressed. "The Kilo-Kilo no Mi can't drop my weight to _zero_ kilograms just as it can't make me any heavier than _ten thousand_ kilograms."

He stared at her for a short moment. "Decimals."

She'd heard the word before. Who hadn't? Basic knowledge of mathematics was needed to survive in the world, and even if most bounties didn't have decimals, she knew what they were. She also immediately realized what he was talking about.

"Decimals." She repeated.

"You can't reduce your weight to _exactly_ zero kilograms, fine. Put it marginally above that. Zero-point-one. Zero-point-zero-zero-one. Zero-point-zero-zero-zero-one."

His lips parted. An ungodly caricature of a smile slapped itself on his face. Shivers traversed her spine. "Light as a feather on the wind. As a mote of dust. As a single, falling snowflake." With his eyes ever obscured behind either dark shades or blindfolds, she could not gleam the slightest of hints as to what foul machinations lay behind his gaze.

"Up." Said V. "Our lesson continues."

* * *

XXXXXXX

* * *

The pitter-patter of raindrops against the exterior of the _Pop Rock Candy_ served as the buffer between thought and reality. Rare was it that the rains on the Grand Line were light, refreshing and calm. The sea's tranquility was a flighty mistress prone to random moments of wanderlust. She gripped her parasol, staring out into choppy waves and ripples across water. To the bright sheen of the wet wooden deck and the puddles reflecting ashen-gray clouds above sea.

V's still form remained motionless underneath the drumbeats of rain. Shirtless, sitting, his legs crossed and his back straight, he appeared a statue decorated across the stone steps of temples than he did a human being. Steam rolled off his body in dancing wafts that coiled into the cold air and died as they were sniped by raindrops. His dark skin blistered a steady red, like a piece of unfettered steel emerging from a forge, hammered by a blacksmith.

She approached him. Her feet slid across the slick-wet deck, in a smooth motion, she stood behind him. Her parasol leaned to the side neither casting shadows nor offering protection.

"Training?"

A dull grunt, a slight inclination of his head. Her own head once more found itself making motions identifiable to every individual who had either heard an absurd idea or witnessed grand acts of folly.

"Why do you bother?" Said Valentine. "You're strong enough as it is."

His response was a deep exhale. Almost condescending, she thought. The manner in which he breathed, like a father whose child had asked another bothersome, irking question.

The light-clinking and ladylike-pitters of rain increased in tempo. Lackadaisically, seemingly grudgingly, the breeze followed, and thunder and lightning trailed after them like desperate middle-born children. The sea's tranquil mistress was gone. In its place, a volatile, fickle-minded wench shrieking desperately for their attention demanded her due.

As always, V remained unperturbed. Through storms that would send sailors praying to their deities and hardened pirates soiling their breeches with patches of yellow-and-brown, the Bomb Human was a mountain. His ever-constant response to the sea's desire to swallow them in death's calm embrace, were two words:

" **November Fifth.** "

Storm after storm had found themselves slaughtered, questioning the significance of the fifth day of the eleventh month. She'd asked him, time and again, why he named his attack such, only to get a cryptic answer, each and every time.

"Remember, remember, the fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and plot."

He was never forthcoming about what plot, nor what treason, and the amusement that danced on his lips whenever he abstained from explanation continued to vex her. Regardless, she would not deny that it was a beautiful thing, no, it was a _magnificent_ thing, to watch the sight of storms blown away from the sky.

The ear-numbing _booms_ could perhaps be the only negative. The sight of clouds racing, of wind and water galloping away like a nomadic clan fleeing from invading barbarians often left her breathless. In the day, it was as though a blanket had been pulled away from the heavens in order to let the sun's rays bathe the world. At night, it was like a silken dress slipping off the shoulders of a young maiden to let the moonlight trickle downwards unto the sea.

His boots connected softly against the deck of the ship, and she glanced upwards, unable to rein in her surprise. The storm was gone, the moon lay brightly in the night sky, but one vital element was missing.

"That – just now –" he turned, vaguely, in her direction. "Just now. I didn't hear anything."

"Good."

" _Good?"_ Was that the appropriate response? "You blew away the clouds without making a single sound?" She did not expect her voice to have increased in pitch. "…you made an explosion _without any sound_."

"Yes."

" _How?_ "

He proceeded to sit back on the deck, crossing his legs as he had before. "Training."

* * *

XXXXXX

* * *

"Captain V! Land ho!"

It was odd, calling him Captain. He was, of course, her Captain, because she had accepted to be his First Mate. "Accepted" being a rather euphemistic term. She could not deny the potential benefits, numerous as they were, it would be both stupid and moronic of her to do so.

He emerged out of the cabin, his iconic dark shades obscuring his eyes as he glanced in the direction of the visible green-and-brown speck that hung on the edge of the horizon. It was getting increasingly harder to know what he was thinking, but she assumed he felt satisfied.

"That island…"

"Little Garden." Said Valentine. "It doesn't look so little from here though."

V's lips seemed to twitch at something. "It took us a month and some days from Whiskey Peak to get here." He walked forward, silently moving across the deck, he turned his attention to her. "A _month_."

"The Grand Line is vast, and the _Pop Rock Candy_ isn't exactly the fastest sailing vessel."

V was not mollified. "Voyages by ship take long amount of time, I expected this… but if the distance between _nearest_ islands on the Grand Line constitute entire _months_ …" he reached for his nose, his index and middle fingers trailing softly against it. "Utterly nonsensical…" he muttered.

"What is?"

"Assassinating the Princess."

"Princess?" Valentine's nose furrowed. "You mean the Princess of Alabasta?"

"Mr. 0 could, _will_ accomplish his goals before she could possibly return to hinder his plans." He crossed his arms, tapping his foot against the deck. Notably, there was no noise from the impact. "Infiltrating Baroque Works, her odds of dying against pirates were higher than her odds of gaining any intel from the organization. What was she thinking?"

"She's dead so it doesn't matter now does it?"

V paused. "Yes," he said, unfolding his arms. "I suppose it doesn't."

There was not much else to be said. V, oddly, had become a man of fewer words than he had when he first awoke. Than he had before he ' _lost his memory,'_ an excuse with a veracity that was thinner than string. Amnesiacs did not suddenly become hyper-competent mavericks.

"I think we can restock some supplies on the island." She turned her gaze to the kitchen. "I'd like to eat something other than roasted fish and Sea-King meat for a change." She bit at her lip. "If we're going to become an actual Pirate Crew… a chef would be nice."

"You can't cook?"

She straightened up. "I'm the First Mate aren't I?"

"So you can't cook."

Heat assaulted her cheeks. "I can bake. Cookies. Cakes. Brownies. Sweet, sugary snacks and even make some ice cream." Her gaze fled from his direction. "I just… have some issues with adding sugar to everything I make."

"Everything?"

Her cheeks scorched. "Don't make me repeat myself."

"…is that why all the fish –" he stopped. "You told me that fish on the Grand Line tasted naturally sweet."

"…"

"…"

"The water on the Grand Line isn't naturally sweet either, is it?"

"…"

"Valentine?"

"Yes Captain?"

"You're barred from the kitchen."

* * *

XXXXXXX

* * *

 **Grand Line**

 **Little Garden**

"I said I'm _sorry!_ "

He ensured the anchor was properly placed, preventing the ship from moving away from the green-lined shores of the island. The sails, he double checked, ensuring they were unfurled. The helm, he ensured was locked in place. Careful and precise, almost to the degree of obsession, she watched him tick items on his list one after the other before jumping off the vessel and landing silently on cool blades of grass.

She followed after him, floating up, moving herself forward until she hovered down beside him, but refrained from touching the earth. A human balloon, she walked by his side.

"I really am!"

The forests shook with a large, resounding growl. Numerous growls echoed afterwards, like a fusillade of beasts, each and every one growing with further intensity. She glanced out into the forest, her lips contorted into a displeased frown. She disregarded the noise, turning her attention back on to her Captain.

"I didn't _mean_ to trick you." She floated in front of him, hovering out of his distance with her hands behind her back. "I wanted you to _like_ it. Didn't you like it?"

He diverted, turning down a path on his left. She followed after him, her floating gait and attempts to appease him eerily mirroring an invisible ghost haunting an occupied traveler.

"People always tell me it's weird. Why do I add sugar to my water? It makes it sweet! It's refreshing, and _sweet_! I mean, I like my ale like everyone else, but some of the beer I've tasted made me wonder if someone collected horse piss and gargled it in the mouth of a donkey before bringing it to the bar." She dodged a vine without looking, bending her head to avoid a branch. "The sweet stuff is rarely ever found. If it is, it costs a fortune. I mean, why can't I just get a drink of something that's sweet _and_ can get me wasted? Or, if I'm not in the mood to drink, something that tastes sweet _and_ is refreshing?"

V's hands brushed against offending vines, the objects burning into ash at the contact. Thorns likewise met their grey-demise as the Bomb-Human proceeded through the shrubbery. Valentine weaved and floated away from objects before they could touch her. Subconsciously, she attained a sensitivity to the wind that could only be brought by a person who was nigh-weightless. A person who was a leaf, a mote of dust, a single, falling snowflake.

"Cola."

Valentine perked up. "You've forgiven me?"

"Cola," continued V. "I _remember_ that there's cola somewhere out there. If you hate alcohol, just drink cola."

"I don't hate alcohol."

"You don't love it."

"It's tolerable." She twirled out of the way of an incoming fly. "Mostly good for the buzz. It'd be better if it tasted sweet. Like chocolate. Imagine that? Chocolate booze. Or – or maybe vanilla? Vanilla ale… of if I could get my hands on some strawberry… oh – yes – yes – the flavors."

"When you get your bounty," said V, "Your epithet should be _'Sweet Tooth'_ Valentine."

"Hey – that's not funny." She watched a small horde of mosquitoes vaporize on contact with him. "We don't choose what they call us. The Marines do." She dodged six of the blood-suckers. "What makes you think we'll get bounties?"

His hand reached out, snatching a beetle in the air, the creature turning to cinders within his palm. His general stare was in her direction, although she could not tell with his shades. His body turned away, his head following, marching unfettered through the forests.

"We're pirates."

"We haven't done anything remotely pirate-y."

"We will."

"When?"

"Soon."

"What will we do?"

"What pirates do best."

The sun's rays failed completely to penetrate the thick foliage. Trees continued to grow outward, obscuring the sky in a blanket of green. The mud was rich-brown, a shade favorable to plants and worms. Repeats of growls and roars bounced from tree to tree, a song seemingly set with neither a start nor beginning. They approached a clearing, or rather, what resembled a clearing. A large, thick imprint left on the earth, shattered rock and crushed branches buried underneath. The curvature and shape of which resembled a humanoid foot. A humanoid foot capable of imprinting on the earth a space fit to be reworked as a swimming pool.

V examined the 'clearing', taking in the sight. She hovered in the air beside him, sitting on nothing, crossing her legs and placing her chin within her palm.

"What do pirates do best?"

A particularly large growl drew their attention. The creature emerged from the darkness. Thick, heavy striped furs, long, protruding fangs from both side of its jaw. Voluminous nails, raked against the earth like a farmer desperately tilling for sustenance. It slowly circled them, paws striking in rapid movements, tail swishing back and forth, the beast's snarls increasing in tempo.

Valentine switched from her hovering position. Laying, peacefully in the air, she made exaggerated breaststrokes, swimming towards the creature. "Do you think it's edible?"

"As long as you don't bathe it with sugar."

"Everything tastes better with sugar."

"Even you?"

She paused her strokes. "I can't tell if you meant that in the cannibalistic way, or –"

The creature _pounced_. Roaring, irked at being ignored, it took several powerful strides, leaping into the air with claws outstretched and fangs bared. It landed, confused, when its floating prey apparently disappeared from its sight.

"Oh! The furs are so soft! I'd love a coat to be made out of this!"

"You're skinning it yourself."

The beast stood, confused, as its prey sat on its back, yet, it could feel nothing. It shook, jumping and pouncing about, to no avail. The prey was not moved, the prey was not bothered, the prey continued to rub its fur.

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"But you're so much better at skinning things than I am! With all the Sea Kings you skinned with your explosions."

"No."

"Pretty, _pretty_ please?"

"No."

The beast growled. Annoyed at being unable to take down the prey on its back, it turned its attention to the other prey. The one in red. It lunged for his prey, charging in a straight path –

A foreboding, unwelcoming feeling crashed into the beast's bones. Its hairs stood on end, each and every stride toward the 'prey' felt like a stride toward certain death. Its charge stopped, its gaze glanced upwards, meeting the dark reflective lenses that obscured the eyes of its pre – pre _dator_ –

The beast's legs felt weak. Its strength left it. It collapsed, consumed under the weight of a power vastly superior to its own. Underneath the might of a pressure that tore asunder its sense of self. Consciousness and will vanished, and it toppled to the ground, motionless.

"Captain…" Said Valentine. "What was that?"

"…killing intent."

"I've never heard of it."

"I didn't think it would work." It was a rare admission, to hear him say that. "To overwhelm your opponent with your desire to kill them, that it can make them freeze or stop their heart."

"The tiger isn't dead."

"It isn't?"

"It's unconscious."

"…it's a start."

"So, about that fur coat…"

"No."

* * *

XXXXXX

* * *

"Y'know, pirates are supposed to be _fun._ " She wiped the blood from her hands with a dusty rag. "I mean, I've killed my fair share since joining Baroque Works, and before I killed them, I noticed one thing that they had in common."

"Being weak?"

She stuck out her tongue at him. "They threw great parties."

"You hate parties."

"No I don't."

"You hate alcohol."

"That has nothing to do with hating parties."

"Earlier you said alcohol was _tolerable_."

"I know what I said."

"Which is it?"

"Hating something and finding it tolerable isn't mutually exclusive." Said Valentine. "I hate the taste. I like the buzz. I find it tolerable overall." The blonde woman tore the skin from the back of the dead creature, grunting. "And – I – don't… ugh – hate… parties!"

The sound of flesh departing brutally from skin echoed through the forest. Valentine rose up her prize. "Where else would I get to show off my clothes and figure?"

"Are we talking about the same type of parties?"

"A party is a party."

V did not bother correcting her. The man marched, deeper into the foliage, the sounds of insects and predators having long since died out into tiny whimpers. In lieu of their presence, the savagery born from Mother Nature was found wanting.

"Do you think Mr. 3 and Miss Goldenweek like parties?" Valentine hovered in front of him again, her previously pristine yellow dress splattered with red. "We rarely ever meet the other Officer Agents. I wonder what they're like?"

"It doesn't matter."

Valentine sat on his shoulder. Her trophy hung off her shoulders. Light as she was, V continued moving, unbothered. "Are we going to kill them?"

"If necessary."

"What'll make it necessary?"

V's left hand cut across shrubbery. "If their stupidity is irredeemable."

Valentine crossed her legs. "You're planning on recruiting them."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't deny it."

V pushed further against the undergrowth. Sitting in the middle of the dense jungle, as appropriate as finding a polar bear in the middle of the Alabastan desert, a small white building could be located. It sheened a bit with a few stray rays of sun that pierced the undergrowth, and even possessed two windows and an ornate looking door.

"Is that… wax?"

"Mr. 3 ate the Doru Doru no Mi. He's a Candle-Human."

Miss Valentine turned her lips into an 'o', before turning her attention back to the wax house. "So he can make _anything_ out of wax?"

"Theoretically, yes." Said V. "From houses, hammers, clubs, and maybe, if his imagination is precise enough, guns and boats."

"That's amazing."

"He prefers to encase himself in a suit of wax and fight hand-to-hand."

"And… that's stupid."

"Coming from the woman whose main attack was to jump on people?"

She did, manage to allow a small dusting of redness on her cheeks. She coughed into her hand. "Do we knock?"

"They have no reason to believe that we're enemies. We shouldn't know about the kill order on us, so act normally." V paused. "Normally than you're usual normal."

They approached the door, slowly, only for V to stop, raising his hand to stop her as well. "Something's wrong."

"What is it?"

"There's no one inside." V rapidly turned around. The ground began shaking, reverberating violently as massive, heavy impacts struck the earth repeatedly.

"They _didn't_."

"They didn't? They didn't what?"

"This island is also home to two rather… large… residents."

The ground shook as creatures fled haphazardly, monstrous booms sharply dwarfed every other audible sound. Entire trees and mountaintops seemed to be pushed or squashed effortlessly by something of gargantuan size, and both V and miss Valentine could only look up, their barely capable of crossing past what was clearly a colossal kneecap, the likes of which belittled mountains.

"Have I ever mentioned," said V. "That this world is insane?"

* * *

I ~ A ~ M ~ F

* * *

I was one of the few individuals fortunate enough to have seen the _Cristo Redentor_ statue in my lifetime. The sight of a giant reminded me of it, except, it was moving, animated, breathing, exuding heat and sound and the numerous other characteristics of living things which the famous _Christ the Redeemer_ statue did not possess. The term "giant" seemed too easy to overlook, the sight seemed effortlessly tiny when one pictured it within the panels of a black and white book.

Standing before one, it was another sight entirely. His feet was larger than my entire body. My gaze, staring at those shoes was like the gaze of a small chipmunk gawking up at _The Mountain_ from Game of Thrones. Instincts in my body screamed at me that I should be fleeing, running, racing in the other direction in lieu of the titan before me. _Titan_ , being used in a sense that I perhaps now understood firsthand the sheer terror inspired by creatures of inimitably great sizes.

"GEGYAGEGYAGEGYAGEGYA!"

The bellow was at an octave that hurt my sensitive hearing. I could only make sense of the nonsensical because I remembered that both giants possessed rather odd manners of laughing. At the same time, my mind was telling me that if he was _laughing_ , it meant things were still positive. Part of me anticipated or expected that Mr. 3 would have gone and done something stupid like attempt to take down both giants on his lonesome. The duo, whilst seemingly good-natured, had casually admitted to effortlessly killing the hapless pirates who believed themselves idiotic enough to challenge giants and survive.

Canonically, Mr. 3 could only take them down because of Mr. 5 (me) planting explosives into the barrel of wine provided by the Straw Hats. However, things were different now. Much different. Had Mr. 3 considered a different plan? Gone with a different approach?

"GEGYAGEGYA! More people have come to the island!"

I could not even see his face, but I could, however, make out the long, elegant beard that fell from the heavens like a waterfall dripping unto hell. From the beard alone, I believed this giant, was clearly Dorry, the Blue Ogre.

With a burst of movement that surprisingly belayed speed that a being of his size possessed no right to have, Dorry crouched to our levels, confirming that it _was_ indeed Dorry, the smiling large giant, whose eyeballs and teeth were the full length of my body, and the man smiled genially at us.

"Are you the friends of the humans who were staying in this tiny hut?"

I contemplated my answer. "We… are acquainted." I said simply. "Do you know where they are?"

"GEGYAGEGYAGEGYA!" Dorry let out a large bellow of laughter, one that literally shook the trees and created gusts of wind. "They said they were after my bounty and attacked me at night."

I did not know whether to applaud Mr. 3's courage, or berate his stupidity at such an endeavor. "I take it they did not succeed."

Dorry's smile sent a small shudder down my spine. "No."

There was no need to ask if they were alive or dead. The answer was self-explanatory at this point. Something within me questioned if _I_ possessed the strength to succeed where they failed. Whether or not _I_ could take down the Great Warriors of Elbaf. The power of my explosions… I knew that they could hurt Brogy, I'd seen it before. In fiction, however, and fiction was a far, far different game than reality.

This was my reality now, as I itched my palms threatening to ignite, and took small, slow breaths. Would I make my attempt here and now, take down a giant for no other reason than because I wanted to know if I _could_ , or would I instead, potentially, find myself making unwitting allies instead?

Silence seemed unsteady, uneasy, as Dorry regarded both of us, the same kindly smile upon his gigantic face. Miss Valentine was watching, sharply, waiting to know my decision. Attack or don't. Attack or don't.

The decision was taken out of my hands with the sharp rumble of the earth, a plume of smoke breaking into the sky as a volcano gave birth to magma and molten rock. The eruption shook the small island in a manner more volatile than the ever repeating steps of the giant, and Dorry reared up, standing straight, his smile ever present on his face as he brandished his weapon and shield.

"GEGYAGEGYAGEGYA! Looks like it's time again!" Dorry's muscles bulged, rippling with exertion and strength, his eyes sharpening and a foreign look entering into those orbs.

… _Of course._

I settled my hands down, placing them into my pockets, as I shook my head in the direction of Miss Valentine. _Stand down_. She gave me a peculiar, slightly surprised look, although she did not question it, and Dorry as well seemingly realized the decision I'd come to.

I increased the sound of my voice as much as I could. "Do your best."

The Giant, seemingly surprised, stared at me, and then laughed. "GEGYAGEGYAGEGYA! Of course!"

He charged off into the distance, footsteps echoing and thudding away underneath the background noise of an erupting volcano. Miss Valentine, a bit jittery, moved to my side, taking a deep breath.

"That was tense…"

I didn't say anything. I found that fewer words made me cooler. Or at least, I was going to speak far less than I should. In the long run, a Bomb-Human who was quiet was ultimately going to be more terrifying than one that talked too much. Still, I couldn't help but nod at her words. It _had_ been tense.

"I thought we were going to attack him?"

"So did I."

Valentine's lips curved. "Why didn't we?"

The answer was obvious, when I thought about it. Obvious, when I realized that I couldn't hold this world to the same standard of its fictional counterpart. Actions did have consequences, and there was one action that had the most of all.

"We would have died."

100 years. For one hundred years, two giants engaged in daily combat against each other, non-stop, for _one-hundred years_. If this was an RPG, their levels would be through the roof from the constant "grinding" as it were. It didn't matter that they were the same opponents, the amount of battle skill and strength gathered in such a huge amount of time was incomparable to the one month and change that Valentine and I spent training.

Dorry and Brogy were sailing the Oceans since before the Pirate King was born, and they were fighting here while the man died. In the era before the Great Pirate Age, their bounties were 100 Million Beri each. There was no way they did not have Haki. There was no way they were not ridiculously powerful. They were older than most, if not all, the current pirates alive.

Oda was on crack if he believed someone like Mr. 3 and even _Luffy_ , could be anything more than a trifling annoyance to them.

"Miss Valentine let this be one of the first rules of our crew." I said to the woman. "If you value your life... do not fight Giants."


	5. Always the Little Things

**I'm BAAAAAAAACK!**

 **Woohoo!**

* * *

 **I Am Mr. Five**

* * *

 **Grand Line**

 **Little Garden**

Titans were not men. Giants were not mortals. Maybe, perhaps, they were mortal in that they bled and they sweat, in that they laughed and they cheered, in that they raged and they cried, but in all other manners in which one would use to classify mortality, giants were exempt.

Size was the qualifier that elevated giants from that realm. A human was earthly in that the tiniest actions of a human did not shatter ecosystems and reform topographies. A yawning human did not cause trees to buckle and sway, a laughing human did not cause winds that travelled the ocean, birthing waves in disagreement with sailors. Two humans fighting would not create a spectacle enough to imprint itself to one's memory, drop to their knees, and declare that truly, there is a creator.

Dorry and Brogy were terrifying and beautiful in one breath. This was not the first time I'd marveled at the difference between animation and reality, but each time it stood in front of me in stark contrast, I found myself questioning the incalculability of the difference. Brogy's strikes reverberated against Dorry's shield with an impact that echoed across the island like Zeus backhanding Hera. Each swing shook the islet, each block made the earth whimper in lieu of the behemoths that had chosen it as their stomping grounds.

Flora suffered from the brutal punishment, and fauna fled for the sake of their existence. Yet, on such a tiny little island, on a place to whom the main residents considered a _little garden_ , there was nowhere to truly run. There was no escaping the fight – only enduring it.

"Does it bother you that somewhere on this island, is a massive pile of literal giant shit?"

I pinched my nose and closed my eyes. _Patience._ "Valentine."

"Do you think they dig up the earth then bury it over, or do they just wade a bit into the ocean to do their business and use seawater to wipe their ass?"

"That's your takeaway from this?"

"I guess. It started out with me being bored with their fight and noticing their sweat drops are like gigantic raindrops, and then listening to all their grunting, my imagination started working out what it would be like if they were having sex instead, and so I started thinking of the preparations they'd need to make before having sex –"

"I regret asking."

Miss Valentine floated in the air, a cocky smile making itself home on her face. From our vantage point on the tallest hill we could find, the battle was easier to witness.

"I don't get it though. Sure giants are _huge,_ but that's it. They're big. Being big doesn't make you special."

I rose a single eyebrow. She waved her hand dismissively. "Same when it comes to sex. Technique beats size."

Raising my hand, I channeled thousands of microscopic explosions through it simultaneously. My hand vibrated in place at a speed that would have outpaced certain high-tier electric devices. She rolled her eyes, a playful smirk etching on her face. "Showoff."

"When you have both size _and_ technique, it makes a difference."

"So you're saying against the giants, we're like a little-dick guy who's good with his fingers, trying to beat the guy with the two-foot long cock and five-years of oral mastery."

I stopped my vibrating hand and stared at her. "…yes." I opted to say. "That's exactly what we are."

"But the real question is," Valentine continued. "Who's the unlucky girl in the metaphor?"

"My sanity it seems."

Valentine laughed. "I get it. Because the giants blew your mind."

I rubbed my nose a second time. "Valentine…"

"Wait, silly me." She slapped her forehead. "You're a bomb-man. Your mind can't be blown."

"Not the puns…"

"I don't get why you're always so serious. Your power literally always lets you _have a blast._ "

Lunging for Miss Valentine, she let out a shrill laugh as she manipulated her weight, flickering away from my grasp. _At least her reaction time is getting better_ , I mused. Fast enough to be able to make _Soru_ look like a second-rate copy of her speed. Something touched the top of my shoulders, no heavier than a feather and barely noticeable. If it weren't for the clearly distinct pair of smooth feminine legs that hung off them, it would have been easy to have dismissed the impact.

"So Captain," she said, crossing her arms over the front of my head as her chest buried into the back. "Not that I'm complaining, but I'm totally complaining. When can we get off this island and to a place that's actually fun?"

Already used to her antics, I placed both of my hands on her thighs and let her ride my shoulders like she was a child. "After we confirm that Mr. 3 and Miss Goldenweek are dead."

"I remember the giant telling us they'd bit the dust."

The earth shook from Dorry and Brogy clashing weapons. I stabilized myself, crouching and placing one hand against the soil. "We didn't see their bodies."

"Want to rob their corpses?"

"I was thinking of getting visual corroboration of the giant's tale."

"I'm not hearing a no to robbing their corpses."

"…sure, why not?"

"Great!" she clapped. "Do you think Miss Goldenweek'll have any classy outfits or jewels on her I can steal?"

"They'll be a bit on the small side for you."

"She's a midget?"

"She's a teenager."

"A teenage midget?"

"No. Just a regular sixteen year old teenager."

"I didn't eat the Kilo-Kilo no Mi just to be told that there were clothes in sizes I'm not small enough to wear."

I didn't have a response to that.

"How did a sixteen year old end up joining Baroque Works and becoming an Officer Agent anyway?"

That _was_ an interesting question. "I actually don't know." There wasn't much on Miss Goldenweek's history that was covered or went into detail. "Maybe we'll find out. Maybe we won't."

"But you knew her age… despite never meeting her?"

"Yes."

"…you're never going to tell me how it is you know the things you know, are you?"

"Maybe one day," I admitted. "It'll blow your mind, and unlike me – you're not built to handle explosions."

She sighed, crossed her legs across my chest. "The explosion puns are only funny when I make them. When you make them, it's cringeworthy."

Closing my eyes and ignoring Miss Valentine's neck wrapping against my neck and chest against the back of my skull was the easy part. The difficult part came with using my powers to search for sources of heat and vibrations that wasn't from either of us, or from the fighting giants. The human body's average temperature was 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, or 37 degrees Celsius. My search focused on creatures within that range, allowing for a small margin of error.

Focusing on vibrations was a different game. Most living organisms generated mechanical vibrations at extremely low frequencies which were termed _infrasonic_ _waves_. The low-frequency vibrations were caused by basic physiological processes such as heartbeats, respiratory movements, blood flow in vessels, etcetera.

Sitting on my shoulders as she was, I could distinctly feel Valentine's heartbeats and other minute physiological details. I knew that her heartbeat spiked when she asked me about how I knew the things I knew, only returning back to normal after I diverted my answer with a pun. I could tell her breathing was relaxed, genuinely relaxed, which I was surprised for. She was… _at ease_ , sitting comfortably on my shoulders. She was _comfortable_ being around me. I could tell it was the weeks we spent sailing the Grand Line with only each other for company, the constant inducement of sexual pleasure, and the harsh training that I made her undergo which was responsible for it.

Simply or more rationally put, Valentine had a form of Stockholm Syndrome. That was, in my opinion, a more logical conclusion than believing somehow along the way, she'd come to like and accept me as a person. Me, the guy who trained her to hell and back and often left her a panting, quivering mess with my fingers against her will. Me, the person who literally strong-armed her into my pirate crew without a care for her own wishes or desires. Believing that she would somehow overlook _all_ of that was naïve at best and idiotic at worst.

Disregarding the use of my ability to become a human polygraph machine, I focused on searching for something else. The sound waves and constant impacts against the earth made by the fight of the two giants worked in my favor, acting as earthbound sonars to stretch my powers further. I added a search for rhythmic movement in twos in the form of footsteps. If there were no matches with my search, I'd conclude that there were no humans on the island and Mr. 3 and Miss Goldenweek were dead.

"What're you doing?"

"Searching for vibrations that would match those of humans on the island."

"Are you _sure_ you didn't eat the Gura-Gura no Mi instead of the Bomu-Bomu no Mi?" She asked. "How does this have anything to do with bombs?"

"Bombs create explosions. Explosions create force, heat, sound, pressure and light. I create explosions. So I create force, heat, sound, pressure and light. Sound and vibrations are closely related, for instance, when you speak your vocal cords vibrate to control the air flow and affect your pronunciation. As I can create sound, I can equally alter my creation of sounds to create vibrations by bleeding off sound energy."

"So… you _did_ eat the Gura-Gura no Mi. But with extra perks?" She shuddered. "That's not fair."

"Only unfair to my enemies."

"Still unfair. You're a human vibrator."

"That's…" She wasn't _wrong_.

"If you can alter sounds, you can manipulate your voice and mimic animal sounds."

"I…" I hadn't thought of that. "In theory."

"Make funny monkey noises."

"No Valentine."

"Tiger noises?"

"No."

"Koala noises?"

"I don't know what noise a koala makes."

"Me neither."

"Why ask me to make them?"

"I thought you'd know."

"Why would I know what noise a koala makes?"

"You knew Miss Goldenweek's age and dress size, and who knows what else. At this point, I'm just going to assume you know something unless you tell me otherwise."

That was fair to an extent. "But… koala noises?"

She shrugged, still sitting on my shoulders. Resisting the urge to sigh, I _tried_ to focus back on my search. Mr. 3 possessed one of the most versatile powers in the world, and the luck of the devil himself. He was able to survive death by crocodile, survive and escape Impel Down and find himself on the executioner's stand of the son of the Pirate King, underneath the noses of three Admirals. His cockroach-like resistance to his own mortality was irritating, I would truly and finally believe the man was dead once I saw his corpse. Anything else was subject to doubt.

"Captain."

 _Oh for the love of…_ "What?"

"Nothing." She said cheekily. "Just realizing how much fun it is to mess with you now." She sighed. "Remember that time, all those weeks ago, when you were a clueless 'amnesiac' who threatened to kill me?"

"Remember that time, when you were an assassin who killed people by jumping on them like a Mario Brother?"

"Who's Mario? _"_

"A plumber."

"And he jumps on people's heads?"

" _Extensively_."

My search brought me the attention of several quadrupedal creatures, which I dismissed and narrowed down to bipedal ones. Amongst the bipedal beings, a lot of them were birds, some were the monstrous 'dinosaurs' that roamed Little Garden. Their heartbeats were erratic, fast. They were running, as they should, in lieu of the giants fighting each other.

I narrowed my search even further. Off to the east of the island, close to the shore, the vibrations were of a variety that was not animalistic. The heartbeats and palpitations matched those of a human with adrenaline overwhelming their system. The movement pattern, calculating for the space and timing before feet struck the earth indicated that the creature was comparatively short.

 _Human_.

"Found something." I spoke up. "East. Four point five kilometers. Hurried footsteps. Fast pace." I charged two blasts in my arms. "Hold on tight."

"Huh – hey waaaiiii –"

The _crack_ of an explosion detonating from my hand propelled me forward. The wind rushed in my ears, blurring out Miss Valentine's shriek as she hung on to me for dear life. I reoriented myself mid-flight, spinning around without need to propel myself further, the first blast being enough to send me into the sky. The forest blurred. Focusing on the shockwaves to use as sonars, I used minor explosions from my hands and feet to navigate through trees and vines, dodge the long-necked brachiosaurs and zooming over the shorter triceratops.

Three seconds after I'd blasted off, I found my target.

Using counter-explosions to slow down and cut my momentum, I overtook the humanoid figure covered in a myriad of paint, and skid to a stop directly in front of her. Yes, the figure was unmistakably a " _her_."

"You've certainly seen better days."

Her red hair was a muddy, dirty, frazzled mess like the wool of electrified sheep crossbred with pigs. Her face wasn't as childish as I'd expected. Torn rags covered her loin region, but the rest of her body was completely nude. Nude – and covered from head to toe in _paint._ Green paint clung to her body like a second skin, and they disturbingly highlighted how visible her ribs were, how thin and malnourished her form was. I'd seen more meat on runway models, and anorexic high schoolers.

There was a sharpness to her eyes that shouldn't have been there. Cautious. Watching. Observing. A roughed up pouch hung beside her, a paintbrush made of a stick, a twine, and several feathers sticking out of it.

"Never –" Miss Valentine whispered. "Never again–"

Floating off my shoulders, her eyes were wide and her hair was blown backwards from the sudden propulsion of speed. She blinked twice, spitting out a leaf that had gotten into her mouth, before irritatingly glaring at me, and then turning to glare at the source of her disheveled state.

The green-paint covered girl cautiously took a step back, her hand defensively rushing to her "paintbrush."

"Who's the brat?"

"This," I gestured with my right hand, "is Miss Goldenweek."

"She's sixteen?"

"She's sixteen."

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

"I can't really see it, with all the mud and… green." Miss Valentine blurred beside the girl. "She's really skinny." She rose the girl's hand, poking the side of her ribs. "Is she even a she? I mean, it's kind of hard to tell…"

Miss Goldenweek turned her head back and forth, shifting between myself and Miss Valentine as her brows furrowed in confusion at our words. Rubbing my hand through my hair I muttered underneath my breath before forcing myself to increase my voice, lest the sound of the giants fighting drown it out.

"Miss Goldenweek, I am Mr. Five, and that the lady with the skinned tiger coat and punk-hair is Miss Valentine. Fellow officer agents of Baroque Works."

Miss Goldenweek's eyes widened immediately. I felt for my connection with the earth to read her infrasonic waves. Her heartbeat. The palpitations of her form. The rapid beating of her heart calmed upon announcing who I was, and I understood immediately. _They must not have gotten the kill order from Crocodile._

"Where is Mr. 3?"

Her eyes went low. Her breathing fluctuated. Her heartbeat quickened.

"I see." I put my hands into a steeple. "And you saw this happen yourself?"

Her eyes met mine.

"I understand. How unfortunate."

She rubbed the side of her arm, looking down. I approached her, my hands behind my back. On reaching her, I realized she was short. Very much so. Her head barely reached the center of my chest. It made it easy for me to pat her on her forehead. I tried to smile in a way that wouldn't immediately give anything away.

"You've done well to survive this long on the island by yourself. We'll take you back to our ship where you can have a bath, a meal and we'll put you in some of Miss Valentine's clothes."

"Wait, what? That wasn't the –"

"As _fellow Baroque Works Agents_ , it's the _least_ we could do, don't you think so, _Valentine?"_

She got the message pretty quickly. Subsequent grumblings underneath her breath were kept to herself, even as she kept side-glancing Miss Goldenweek. I couldn't blame her. No one would look at Miss Goldenweek as she was and believe she was supposed to be a member of a large scale criminal organization. Starved and skinny and quiet, one wouldn't be wrong to mistake her for a street urchin or a sexual abuse survivor.

The volcano rumbled. A powerful eruption shook the earth and island, forcing it to imitate a bouncy-house balanced on electronic bulls. Miss Goldenweek staggered, falling forward. I caught her frail, _light_ form with ease, my lips thinning slightly as I realized how the repercussions of my actions were causing events I could not anticipate or plan for.

Her hands wrapped around my waist, and she squeezed tightly. I could tell from the manner in which her heart calmed once the eruption stopped, just how badly and how desperately she'd been alone on the island.

Mr. 3 was dead. There was no doubt of that anymore. He was dead, and Miss Goldenweek survived, spending weeks trapped on Little Garden with dangerous animals and two extremely deadly pirate giants. Without Mr. 3, I couldn't see how Luffy would fight Magellan should he ever break into Impel Down. I couldn't see how the Straw Hats would be able to create a key that would unlock their cages in Crocodile's lair.

I didn't know how far these tiny things would affect the future, but I did know one thing. Whatever future that would come, it would be unlike anything anyone had ever seen.

* * *

XXXX

* * *

 **Pop Rock Candy**

 **Coast of Little Garden**

 **Grand Line**

She would not particularly say that she was pleased in the manner by which Mr. Five, or rather, _V_ , seemed to so blatantly give Miss Goldenweek special treatment. He held her close, spoke reassuring words to her, was gentle and firm, lacked the sarcastic bite and tonal apathy she had come to associate with him for the month and several days they'd been sailing the ocean together.

It was as though he'd turned into a completely different person, and she could not understand it. Was it the age factor? Because it irked her, _irked her_ , the clear blatant difference between the treatment he showed Miss Goldenweek and the treatment he'd first given her, despite the fact that she was _his partner_.

 _Work partner,_ she meant. Not, _partner-_ partner.

"Be sure to make yourself at home, and tell me if there's anything you need."

Floating on deck, she crossed her arms, waiting expectantly as her _Captain_ walked onto the deck, _smiling_. He was actually _smiling_. The smile all but vanished from his face and replaced with his typical neutral visage once he caught a glimpse of her. "What?"

"What? What's up with you acting all –" _all… nice?_

"Are you… jealous?"

She scoffed. "Jealous?"

Her? Jealous? That was absurd. She wasn't jealous. What was there to be jealous of? Oh, sure, for the first several weeks, she wasn't sure if he was going to kill her or violently rape her, and there was that time where he made her piss herself out of fear, and there was the brutal training and the fact that although she'd eventually found it pleasurably, their sex had not started out consensually. But sure – _sure_ she was clearly not jealous of the manner in which he suddenly started showing a soft and sensitive side to Miss-fucking- _Goldenweek_ –

"You're upset."

She grit her teeth. "I'm not."

"You think I'm playing favorites?"

"I don't know what to think."

He sighed. "I'm a _pirate_ Valentine."

"Since when are pirates nice and warm to little kids?"

"She's sixteen, not a little kid."

"And that makes it better?"

"It does, considering I'm grooming her."

The heat in her chest dissipated. She didn't know when she took an instinctive step backwards. "…what?"

"It means I'm –"

"I know what it means!" She bit her lip. "Why?"

"She's a young, impressionable sixteen year old who joined a _criminal organization_ and recently lost her partner. She's vulnerable. _Moldable_. She can be anything I… _we_ , want her to be."

V took several steps forward, and she backed away slightly. "Miss Goldenweek has the ability to paint colors that affect emotions and can brainwash the weaker-willed. She can make mothers turn around and slit the throats of their children, brothers take up arms against each other without reason, and force down the pride of the stubborn fools into complete subservience. Imagine what we could accomplish, with that power under our control?"

She could imagine. She could imagine, and her imagination did not paint a beautiful picture. His explosions alone could inspire fear and terror, but to give him the power over emotions on top of that?

"What sort of devil fruit –"

"It's not a devil fruit."

"That's –" she breathed. "How?" _How?_

"That's an answer we'll have to discover… as we shape her into a good little girl fanatically protective of her 'beloved family.'"

V moved behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, softly kneading and vibrating in place in a manner that sent traitorous shivers of pleasure travelling down her spine. "Now, Valentine, getting jealous is a waste of energy. From now on, we're all a _family_. A big, bad, pirate family. And for now, you're going to go in there, be a good older sister, and help Miss Goldenweek wash. Ensure she's properly clean, and make sure you let her know about how overly affectionate you are."

"Overly affectionate? I'm not –" she caught his look. The understanding dawned in her at once.

"You are now."

Her heart was beating fast. Faster than ever. It was, easy, in a way, to forget the type of person V was. Perhaps because they'd been alone for too long, she'd almost forgotten.

"Don't tell me you have any objections?"

"I – "

"Good." His warm breath whispered into her air. "I knew I could count on you, _Valentine_."

His lips vibrated, the vibration travelling down her neck and making her shudder. With two confident pats on her back, he sent her forward, her thoughts a whirlwind. Sure, she'd committee murder. Killed men in painful ways and derived the pleasure in it. Though, this was something else entirely. Foreign territory. She didn't know what to think.

Would it have been better, if V was simply playing favorites?

 _I'm overthinking this_. Miss Goldenweek wasn't a child. Miss Goldenweek most likely had killed people, as she was also an agent of Baroque Works. She wasn't some naïve, wide-eyed patsy that was fooled into entering a life of crime. She knew the risks of her profession, and this was one of them.

Entering into the Pop Rock Candy's sole bathroom, she noticed Miss Goldenweek sitting in the tub, clutching her knees to her chest, silent and staring blankly at the air.

"You're supposed to be bathing. Not –" Valentine sighed. Stripping off her clothes, she grumbled as she reached for the soap and the brush. "This is going to take a while."

The girl was mostly unresponsive throughout the entire washing session. Scrubbing off the dirt and grime and the copious amount of green paint only put it into perspective as to just how skinny she was. Valentine wasn't exactly on the robust side, but at least, her ribs weren't outlined on her sides at first glance.

"So there's no way I'm going to keep calling you Goldenweek." She said simply. "What's your name?"

The girl's response was to casually tilt her head. "Yes, your name. I'm asking you. You _can_ speak can't you?"

Nothing. Not a single peep out of her. Valentine clicked her tongue in annoyance. _Rude little…_ "Fine. Be that way." The most difficult part of the entire washing process was washing her hair. After getting all the gunk and paint out of it, the true color of the hair started to show. _Red_. Quaint. Now V's crew had both a blonde and a redhead aboard.

"There. All clean."

The girl's age was a bit more obvious now that she was cleaner. While she was still skinny, her chest region was developed, albeit small, and her waist was more prominent. _V said to be overly affectionate…_ She wasn't sure how to do it. She wasn't sure if she _could_ do it.

Her hand reached out to the younger and smaller girl's chest. Her gaze went lower, even as her heart began to pound harder and harsher in her chest. Miss Goldenweek just stared at her, as if she were completely in a different dimension from the realm around her. It _irked_.

"Why are you…" she grit her teeth. "Why do you look so…" She bit her lip. "Damn it."

She couldn't do it. Not to someone who looked as though they could barely tell their left from their right. There was a broken, nigh-emotionless look in Miss Goldenweek's eyes, and if she did what V wanted her to do, she wouldn't be able to sleep with herself at night.

"Just… stay here, let me get you some clothes."

Leaving the bathroom and heading to her room, she let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. "Ugh." Rifling through her closet for clothes, she understood immediately that nothing she had would be remotely fitting on such a small frame. Underwear was out, and clothes weren't even an option. She opted for one of her larger t-shirts. Miss Goldenweek would have to make do until they left Little Garden.

"Done already?"

She flinched at his voice. His breath suddenly on her neck, without ever hearing him enter her room. Then she remembered that he could create soundless explosions. He could mute the sound he made to nothingness. He could become a ghost if he wanted to be.

"Well?"

"I don't know what exactly I'm _supposed_ to do."

"Be affectionate. Do what ladies do when you're with each other. It can't be that hard."

Valentine blinked. A rare, sneaking suspicion began to climb into her mind, one that made her question if she'd misheard. No, one that made her question if she'd completely misunderstood.

"When you said to be _overly affectionate_ you were not telling me to…?"

"To…?" V rose an eyebrow. Something clicked. "You thought I was telling you to feel her up."

"You _weren't_?"

"No, why would I?"

"You said you were _grooming_ her."

"I am." He said. "So why would I have you molest her? That's not how grooming works. That's entirely counter-intuitive to grooming her."

Her mouth opened, yet words were not forming. Her brain needed several seconds to re-organize her perception of things and events. "So what did you mean when you told me to be _overly affectionate?_ "

"Do what females do when bathing with each other? Skin-ship? Bonding? Salon talk? I don't necessarily have much experience in this matter, so I can only guess."

"Salon… talk?"

"You've never been to a salon? Seen women who sit down with magazines and talk all day?" He asked, muttering something under his breath that she barely caught. "…world doesn't have any salons?"

She couldn't help it. She snickered. A soft, disbelieving snicker. The snicker grew, escalating until she started laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"You –" she wheezed. "I thought you – I mean…" it was hard to speak in-between laughs. A _misunderstanding_. That was what it was. A simple misunderstanding. She'd completely misinterpreted his words as having a more loaded meaning than they did.

"Valentine," V said, sounding serious. "You know there _are_ some lines even I will not cross."

No, she didn't. She _hadn't_. "I do."

"Good," V said. "Now, hurry back to Miss Goldenweek, and be yourself around her. Try to get her name out of her, if nothing else."

"And what will you be doing?"

V's hands sparked. There was an expression on his face she had not seen before. Primal. _Hungry_.

"Killing the dinosaurs."

Her brow furrowed. "Why…?"

"A change of plans. Killing Dorry and Brogy will undoubtedly cement Miss Goldenweek in our good graces. Plus, their bounties will certainly come in hand."

"How does that have anything to do with killing dinosaurs?"

"My dear Valentine," V shook his head. "Even a person who adds sugar to every meal should understand what would happen when there's no meal available"

The answer clicked in her head immediately. Her brows widened. "You're… going to kill every animal on the island to starve the giants?"

V merely chuckled. "It's always the little things that kill Goliath." The Bomb Human walked away laughing. "Always the little things."


	6. The Heart Blasts What the Heart Blasts

**Aye, really need to work on my story update schedule. Anyway... here's Luci, with another chapter.**

* * *

 **I Am Mr. Five**

* * *

Several hundred million years ago on earth the creatures that would be referred to as dinosaurs were wiped out by a meteorite. The destruction of a species could be accomplished with enough force by an object soaring from beyond the stars. Of course, the destruction of a species could also equally be created by a singular species, their advancement in science and technology developing weapons of mass destruction capable of turning the world into a nuclear wasteland. A third, and possible method for a species to be destroyed, can come in the form of a man with sufficient fire-power to bring about the oft mentioned biblical end-of-days.

My name was V.

And I was that man.

" **ALLAHU AKBAR!** "

Little Garden was a burning garden. Smoke filtered into my lungs, flames licked harmlessly at my skin, gale-winds and shockwaves travelled away from me like a nun rushing towards the confession booth at the dying minute of the rapture. My body was a weapon of mass destruction. My every breath was fire and carnage. Trees became the hapless victims of my whim and fancy. Prehistoric beasts were stripped of hair, flesh, skin and bone, their existence reset by the all-consuming beauty of fire.

"On the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup."

I was not a religious man. Yet, there was a beauty, inherent in witnessing the world baptized in swirling flames. Since the era when mankind discovered to strike rocks against dry leaves, they have been utterly enthralled by fire. I was no exception. Walking through the aftermath of my explosions always brought upon me an almost devout fascination. The earth, blackened with soot, the trees and leaves raining from the sky as white ash. The remnants of living beings, barely identifiable. Vaporized. Gone to dust and ash.

Little Garden was a garden of ash and charcoal. Watered with smoke, fertilized with flame. I, the gardener, glanced upon the work and saw that it was good. Unfortunately, the heavy, rocking sound of giant feet, rushing towards me, from both directions, told me that the garden's pests refused to accept the work of the gardener.

Giants, were, as I must have mentioned a thousand times, huge. There was no point in understating their size. A hefty, hulking brute of a man that would be called The Mountain in a series about dragons and incest, would be able to fit into a giant's nose easier than a Q-tip. Thus, two giants, blackened with soot and smoke, hovering above me were enough to cast their shadows into the sky and obscure the sun.

"You…" their voice rumbled like thunder travelling across the sky. "Did you do this?"

Dorry, I believed, was the one speaking. I took a formal elegant bow, "Forgive me," I said, drawling my words. "There was a troublesome bug afoot. I believed I got rid of it."

The giants, turned to each other, and then as one, threw back their bellies, and bellowed. "GEGYAGEGYAGEGYA!"

The laughter would have deafened the eardrums of any other man. I was certainly amused, if nothing else, at the manner in which they were able to co-ordinate their laughter. Ah, it was a shame these two giants had wasted a better part of a hundred years fighting simply because of a little girl that questioned them on who had gotten the larger catch.

"This human is certainly funny, Dorry."

"A very funny one, Brogy."

"I hoped I did not disturb your duel," I said, waving my hands. "I mean you no ill will. I will be leaving the island soon." My hands found their way into my pockets. "Best of luck, noble giants."

My feet kicked into the air, and wasted no time in propelling me out of the area. The speed of a shockwave was enough for myself to be kilometers away before the giants could let out any other words. The utter devastation of Little Garden was clear, as I zoomed through the flames and ash, the remnants of the island.

The shockwave from the explosion no doubt travelled across the sea, and I knew, somewhere, far off, a wave like the backhand of Poseidon would arise to wrought chaos upon unsuspecting seamen.

The thought brought me amusement. Like a giant, I had become. My actions, reverberating across the world to create ripples large and small, shift fate and set destiny upon a table, flipping her errant skirt and whipping her until her tune was to my liking.

All in a day's work, for a pirate.

* * *

| I - A - M - F |

* * *

The outcome, ultimately, was predictable. Dorry and Brogy needed food. Little Garden was devoid of food. There was nothing that would be capable of feeding a giant on the island anymore, which left wading the shallow waters of the island in search of fish and sea kings.

My explosion ensured that was not an option. Fish, large and small, knew better than to move _toward_ a location with such strong wind activity. No, they were smarter than that. Dorry and Brogy were the unfortunate fisherman casting their nets in futility. Without a miracle, a messiah to aid them, they would not find any meal in the shallow waters around Little Garden.

So what would they do?

They were, fortunate for me, not the sort of individuals who would complain, point fingers, and search for culprits and scapegoats. No, rather than hunt down the human responsible for the lack of food, they would take the practical option. Neither wanted to defeat the other at anything less than full strength, so they would, wisely, post-pone their duel in search of food.

That was what they would have done.

What they would have done – if there was not only one boat.

As was the terms of their fated battle, only one individual was supposed to leave Little Garden alive. So, there was only one boat for that person, with enough room for only one giant. To climb upon that boat, and attempt to use it to leave the island without first finishing their battle would be seen as an insult against their customs, a spit in the face of their god Elbaf.

That meant, their final battle was nigh.

From my viewpoint, the battle was impressive. Both giants fought, with every single thing they had. Their blows sent ash and dust flying away from the island. The shockwaves from parry after parry was enough to render the clouds from the sky and change the weather. It was the final battle. The point at which there was no return. The moment wherein a victor was to be decided. They threw everything they had, everything they could give, into the battle. Hours passed, as the hungry titans roared, their rage and righteous fury colliding against each other.

Best friends. Warriors. Brothers.

For a hundred years, they fought, without stop, without end.

I knew, from the beginning, that without outside interference, there was only one way this battle would ever have ended.

Dorry's sword pierced Brogy's chest.

Brogy's axe cleaved Dorry's head.

Goliath slayed Goliath.

Time came to a standstill at the final moments. The leviathans, barking with their final laughter, as their ultimate blows connected. Realizing, perhaps understanding, that they were true equals with each other. None, greater than the other. None, inferior to the other.

Both giants collapsed, bleeding upon the ashen remnants of an island once rife with life. The final living things upon the garden, the grandest things on the island – the last things to die on the island.

The One-Hundred Year Battle came to an end, and its victor –

I.

* * *

|I. AM. MR. FIVE|

* * *

Miss Valentine found her lips dry.

It had been two day, since the explosion rocked the island and turned it to dust. Two days, since he told her of his plan. Now, she saw him, on the ashen beach of Little Garden, his trophies beneath him.

"We're going to need way to transport these."

Two giant heads. V sat, lazily, atop the severed giant heads, his expression as unreadable as ever. She swallowed the odd sensation budding in the back of her throat, her eyes going up to look at her captain.

"We could use the Giant's ship."

"A fleet with only three pirates?" V laughed. "I like that."

Footsteps came from within the Pop Rock Candy. From behind her. Valentine found the brat. Miss Goldenweek's eyes were wide. Bright. She moved almost as if she were in daze. She leapt off the Pop Rock Candy, panting as she ran forward, her feet crunching on blackened sand. She knelt, disbelieving, in front of the heads of the giants.

V hopped down from their heads, landing in front of the girl. With more chivalry than Valentine ever believed he was capable of, he bowed, gesturing towards the heads, offering it like a prince presenting his slayed dragon to his princess.

"For you, Miss Goldenweek."

A part of Miss Valentine wondered how much of it was true, and how much wasn't. Had they never found the midget, would her Captain still have gone through his plan of killing the giants? If he wouldn't have, did that mean, in truth, he had solely gone through the trouble of literally slaying giants just so he could make one girl happy?

Something bitter stuck at the back of her throat. She had to beg him just to help her skin a tiger, and yet, for someone else, he would kill giants. She shook her head at the thought. She understood _why_ he was going through all the effort for Miss Goldenweek. He wanted her loyalty. Her power. Her devotion.

 _Still… kinda stings._

The girl clung to him tighter than she believed possible. She whispered soft, silent words that Valentine couldn't make out, but she knew her captain could. She couldn't read his face with his glasses, so she would never know what those words were, unless she asked him.

She wouldn't ask him, of course. They were none of her business. She sighed, running her hand through her locks.

"So… Captain, are we _finally_ going to leave this place?"

His response was a curt, soft nod. "We set sail for the nearest Bounty Station. And then… Alabasta."

* * *

|I – A – M – F|

* * *

 **Grand Line**

 **Two Days Later**

"Marianne." I tested the name on my lips. "Certainly less of a mouthful than Miss Goldenweek."

Marianne pouted at me. ' _I didn't choose my codename.'_

My hands came up in surrender. "I know, I know. Mr. 0 picks the names. I honestly wonder why he went with holidays of all things as a motif…" I scratched my nose. "Actually, when I think about it… how do holidays even work here… something to think about later."

Marianne frowned, tilting her head. ' _You don't know how holidays work?'_

"I understand _how_ they work, just… the origins of them is what makes little sense to me. Is there a Saint Valentine? A Santa Claus?" I sighed. "A lot of things about the Grand Line make little sense. There should certainly be a larger diversity of language… culture… does the concept of time-zones exist? So many questions…"

Marianne laughed, covering her hand with her mouth. ' _You're funny.'_

"Am I?" I leaned back unto the deck. "I didn't realize it. Valentine tends to disapprove of my puns."

"Your puns are horrible Captain and you know it. They don't have any _spark_."

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Here we go…"

Valentine emerged from the shower in a towel, hands akimbo on her sides, and mischievous smirk ever pasted on her face. "He's a bomb human. Ever heard of a bomb that ignites its own fuse and blows up without anyone's help? No? Exactly. That's why you should leave the puns to the experts."

"Experts? You expect Mari to join you?"

Valentine snuck behind Marianne, pinching the girl's cheeks. "Give it a couple of weeks and I'll have chibi here dropping _bombs_ of her own."

I couldn't stop myself from groaning. "Don't."

Valentine smirked. "I can picture all the _bangers_ she'll hit you with."

Marianne was giggling as I tried to cover my face, leaving Valentine with more ammunition than I should.

"What's wrong captain? You should know, Mari-chan and I are going to _fuse_ together, and make sure you never go a day without a strong, powerful… _discharge_."

Marianne's cheeks lit up as Valentine cackled. She was young, but apparently, not naïve. The double entendre did not fly over her head at all. My lips twitched with that knowledge. I gave Miss Valentine a subtle nod for her efforts, all the while using my body language exaggerate my distaste for her pun.

"Now you're _really_ pushing it."

"Come on, Mari-chan. Tell Capt'n, how much you'd just love to _blow_ him away."

I palmed my hand down my face. "That isn't even a bomb pun."

The blonde shrugged, floating around the deck. "Sometimes you hit, and other times, you _missile_."

My head, swung from side to side. "That was almost as bad as your cooking."

Valentine clutched her chest in mock hurt. "Ugh… right where it hurts, straight in my pride." She floated further in the air, falling like a leaf unto my lap. "Cap'n, how could you?"

"I don't know. How could you add sugar into everything you make?"

"But you admitted that you liked my sugar-crusted salmon cake –"

"…I… I can… cook."

Valentine and I stared as one toward the girl. She didn't say much, mostly conversing via body-language and non-verbal cues. It was the second time I'd heard her voice. The first, was two days ago, after she thanked me for 'killing' Dorry and Brogy.

"You… can?" Miss Valentine sounded suspicious.

"You can?" I sounded more eager than I should have.

Mari nodded, enthusiastically. ' _I enjoy cooking a lot.'_

"Then as First Mate of the Pop Rock Candy, I officially declare you, Chef Mari – ouch!" Valentine yelped. "You pinched me!"

"Mari, not that I doubt you, but, I just want to know if you have any penchant for a particular seasoning that may end up flavoring all your food."

Mari placed her finger on her lips. ' _I like… spicy foods?'_

"… so it's between capsaicin overdose or diabetes…"

"I resent that! You can't get diabetes if you simply burn through all the sugar –"

"Spicy foods it is." I stretched my hand. "As the Captain of the Pop Rock Candy, I officially make you, Marianne, the Chef of…" I hummed. "…the Devil Pirates."

Valentine wrapped her arms around my neck. "Devil Pirates?"

"We were going to need a name sooner or later."

"But why the Devil Pirates?"

"Exactly."

Her nose scrunched up. "Why the Devil Pirates?"

"You got it."

"I… don't get it."

I couldn't help the smirk on my lips. "Imagine we pull into a harbor, and someone shouts, ' _What in the devil's name is that?'_ or you encounter an enemy, and they ask 'who the hell are you?' There'd be no shortage of witty things to reply."

"… you picked the name of our pirate group… because you want to have witty replies to give people?"

"Of course."

"…why?"

"I'm a Pirate, Valentine, not a philistine."

The Kilo-Kilo no Mi user sighed. "I thought you chose Devil Pirates because it'd make us sound like we were filled with Devil Fruit users."

"Smart. We can use that as subterfuge. Excellent thinking Valentine."

Marianne, through it all, was giggling. ' _So… I'm part of… the Devil Pirates?'_

"Of course. Valentine is the First Mate. You're the Cook-slash-Artist. So far, we're off to a good start. We just need to recruit a Musician, Marksman, Shipwright, Navigator –"

"Capt'n, we already have a Navigator. Me. Hello, beautiful girl in your lap?"

"Valentine, be serious."

"I can read air-currents when I'm weightless enough, and it allows me to be able to tell when storms or bad weather is coming. I know how to work the sails of a ship and in the past few months, I've been steering the Pop Rock Candy alone through your crazy explosions, and did so without damaging it. I think that more than qualifies me."

I stared at the blonde woman in my lap. She was serious. "…I didn't know that."

"Impressed?" she crossed her arms. "You should be. You're not the only one who can invent new abilities Captain."

I was impressed. "I am." I said. "Well done, Valentine."

"Praise me some more."

I rose a brow.

"I don't know when next you're going to do it, so I might as well just milk it and get you to shower me with praise now."

I rolled my eyes. "Valentine is amazing."

"Say it again, but slower, and with more enunciation –"

"Don't push your luck."

"Also, I want a pet name." She pointed. "You call her Mari. Why do you keep calling me Valentine?"

"…that isn't your name?"

"…Did you really believe my name was Valentine?"

In hindsight, it made sense that it wasn't. Just as Mr. 5's real name clearly could not be Mr. 5 and Miss Goldenweek's real name could not be Miss Goldenweek, obviously Miss Valentine's name wasn't actually Valentine.

She seemed genuinely upset with me, for some reason. Her gaze was irritated. Weightless as she was on my lap, she glared at me with heat. It was different, from the early heat of when we'd first met. Different from outright hatred or vehemence. I couldn't place it.

"…you really don't remember at all, do you?"

"Valentine –"

"My name is _not_ Valentine!"

She pushed me away, sending me skidding across deck. With an irritated huff, she floated her way back into the ship, heading below deck and slamming the door behind her. I scratched my head, frowning as I turned to Mari.

"Do you understand any of what just happened?"

Mari nodded. ' _She's angry at you.'_

"I got that much. I don't understand why."

Mari gave me a look, one which almost said, ' _You can't be serious.'_

"What are you talking about?"

She shook her head, sighing. ' _She likes you.'_

"Yes, we trade jokes and flirt all the time –"

The younger girl rose up, approached me, and without hesitating, planted a kiss on my lips. My body couldn't move. The kiss wasn't something long, or something sensual, but it was there to send a message.

 _She likes you_.

"…Oh." I said. "That… that can't be right." What, I was supposed to believe that Miss Valentine had… _romantic feelings_ for me? What sort of bizarre, impossible world was that supposed to happen?

 _Maybe it's Stockholm Syndrome._ Yes, definitely. It was more likely that Miss Valentine had developed some sort of Stockholm Syndrome-like affection towards me than it was that in the past few months where I'd literally done nothing but torment her with training and pleasure her with sex, she'd somehow found herself developing romantic feelings for me.

Or was it that she was one of those people who couldn't have sexual intimacy without forming an emotional bond? She didn't seem to be a virgin, so, I hadn't considered that possibility – but –

I shook my head. "This can't be right. She can't… I mean with me… I mean… what's there about me to like?"

Mari leaned in. The second kiss was longer than the first. Deeper, than the first. Her tongue was surprisingly warm. Her taste was of seawater and ink. The kiss departed, and she left me staring at her, her blushing, quiet form.

The message was delivered. ' _There's a lot to like.'_

"I… ah. Er… I need… some… right."

My mind was in a daze as I walked away from the deck. Yes, I wanted Marianne to develop feelings for us, but this was… _too fast. Too fast. I mean… all I've done so far is kill the giants for her – and –_

 _And Valentine –_

There had to be an explanation that was more logical. A reason that made more sense than me believing that these two women had suddenly woken up with romantic feelings for me. For _me?_ I laughed. Come on. Who was the universe trying to fool? No – no – something else was going on here.

 _Is it my explosions? Am I scattering pheromones to the wind subconsciously? Is it something in the water? The air? There has to be an explanation. Or did – did they get bitten by some sort of rare insect while we were on the island?_

I remembered from canon that Nami got sick from a rare bite while on Little Garden. Was that what happened? Maybe it worked faster for Marianne since she'd been on the island longer, but Miss Valentine only got the flu when she got there –

 _She should have worn more clothing to cover up._

I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. Whatever disease or bug that infected them didn't seem to have affected me yet. I didn't have any feelings for Marianne because I'd only known her for a short while. But with Miss Valentine… well, she was… amusing… and beautiful. Her puns grated on my nerves often, but I did enjoy myself in her company. She knew how to make me laugh, or at least, crack a smile.

 _But… romantic feelings?_

I shook my head. "Why am I letting this bother me so much?"

I should be celebrating. Whether it was a bug or something in the water, this was good, for me. Marianne having feelings for me meant I could cultivate those feelings and have her on my side. Miss Valentine having feelings meant it was less likely for her to betray me –

 _You should be celebrating. Whoo! Two girls are falling for you and you barely did jack-shit to deserve it. Celebrate!_

…

Fuck.

"…Is this what it feels like to be Ronald Weasley? Rito Yuki? Hyoudou Issei?"

It didn't quite feel… good.

"Whatever. It'll die off… eventually."

I was going to be the Pirate of Pirates. Pillage, murder, rape, and of course the drunken revelry and debauchery. Kidnapping princesses, torturing marines – the full course worthy of the Captain of the Devil Pirates. It didn't matter if they felt something for me now. Once they saw what I truly had in mind, what I was capable of – those feelings would die.

Or at least, Valentine's would.

Marianne was still… up for debate. Her power was useful, but ultimately, if it came down to it, I could do without it. Explosions beat mind control when it came to coercion after all.

"…where's the goddamned alcohol when you need it?"

Right. It didn't matter.

At the end of the day, their feelings would die.

They would understand, it was stupid, to have feeling towards someone like me.

They would understand in time.

* * *

| I – A – M – V |

* * *

 **Five Days Later**

"Land ho!"

Things on the Pop Rock Candy had been awkward, to say the least. Valentine and Marianne got closer to each other in an unbelievably quick amount of time, such that the younger girl had taken to sleeping in Valentine's bed, cuddling up with her. Between myself and Marianne, things progressed normally, but I noticed, she seemed to keep looking for, or finding excuses to be close to me.

Little things like sitting in my lap were supposed to be innocuous, except for how she would breath in a rather forward manner and apparently gleam at me with a brilliant smile when she finally felt something bulging pushing against her. Other times she would make the 'mistake' of entering my room when she came out from the shower, before giving an 'oops' and a 'teehee' before leaving. On other occasions she would outright enter the bathtub while I was in it, grabbing a rubber duck from _god knows where_ and asking me to wash her back.

Somehow, in some bizarre, inexplicable twist of fate, rather than I grooming Miss Goldenweek, I found myself trying to _avoid_ the overly-clingy teenager who apparently had no knowledge of boundaries.

A part of me questioned why I had not just given in to her demands and shown her who was boss. The reason was simple.

Imagine a cheetah, on a field, chasing a gazelle. Now, the cheetah knows its role of predator, and the gazelle understand its role of prey. But, without warning, the gazelle turns around, and begins to chase the cheetah, bobbing its head and weaving back and forth like Muhammed-fucking-Ali, while all the while taunting the cheetah to 'come get'sum bitch'.

Either A: The Gazelle has in fact taken some boxing lessons and it'll be a seriously bad idea to approach it, or B: There was a trap in place for the cheetah.

I didn't know _what_ the trap was supposed to be, which was why, for the most part, I found myself acting like an obtuse harem protagonist and yeeting Marianne's advances.

There was no FBI on the Grand Line to come knocking on my door and yelling to open up, but I couldn't help but feel that way for some odd reason.

Valentine found the entire thing unbelievably amusing, and started _supporting_ Marianne's over-the-top advances in little ways. I was the captain of my own ship, and yet, I'd been ganged up on by two women.

The thing with Valentine and I had also been odd. I tried asking her what her real name was, but she refused giving me an answer. Yet, every time I called her 'Valentine' she would answer with a sickeningly sweet tone that indicated she was not at all pleased. It left our interactions somewhat cold, and she had, noticeably increased her flirtatious comments and dirty jokes.

I felt like I was in an episode of Ed Edd an' Eddy, being tormented by the Kanker Sisters. Once Valentine understood that I didn't have it in me to physically hurt her, no matter how much I huffed and puffed like the big bad wolf, she took full advantage of that knowledge.

Ultimately, I couldn't kill her. Annoyingly as it was, I'd become too endeared to her to kill her, and the thought of harming her or scarring her with my explosions simply because I occasionally didn't like her tone left a bitter taste in my mouth. Sure, I could hit her playfully, and I wasn't shy about roughing her up when it came to training, but at my core, I wasn't the type of person who'd beat down on a woman for no reason. I mean, sure, I'd molest you, but I wouldn't beat you. I had standards.

On one hand, I was glad that she wasn't afraid of the literal walking bomb, on the other hand, I almost missed the days when she was.

"Finally," I said, stretching my arms. "What's the name of this island?"

"Lentil Island." Came Valentine's response. "There's a Marine Base and a Market. We can turn in Dorry and Brogy's heads here and restock on supplies."

Ultimately, we'd sailed while towing along the Giants of Elbaf's ship, making sure to avoid storms and finding the smoothest route with the Log Pose to this island. We had an Eternal Pose for Alabasta, so we didn't have to worry too much about going off track on occasion. It also allowed me to find different unexplored islands and routes that existed on the Grand Line that the Straw Hats hadn't followed.

"We're not staying too long. We only need the two-hundred million beli cashed in, and we'll be leaving."

Valentine placed her hand on her hips. "We're going shopping."

" _We_?"

"Mari-chan and I. In case you forgot, but she's been wearing most of my outfits."

No, I hadn't forgotten. I sighed, scratching the back of my head. "Fine. You'll follow me to make the trade for the giants, and then, I'll split the two hundred million so you and Marianne can do the shopping."

Our arrival into the port drew attention. There were whispers and stares, which was understandable, considering we were towing a ship with the heads of two giants. We didn't fly a jolly roger yet, so we weren't harassed or accused of being pirates, which, I wondered, why pirates didn't simply do. I supposed it was an issue of pride.

Docking the Pop Rock Candy brought my attention to the Marine ships, similarly docked. There were a few Marines on board, but they seemed most likely to be the low-level grunts and cannon-fodder, mopping the deck and keeping an eye out. My biggest issue was that the ship was… _large._

"Valentine…"

" _Yes, dear…?_ "

"Not now. Look. That Marine Ship."

She floated over to me, her eyes landing on the vessel in question. "Four masts, three sails, custom paint job… dark pink hull, light blue deck house…"

"Is that…?

"A Captain's Ship."

"Fantastic." I said.

"Doesn't look like it belongs to the Marines based here. So a Captain from elsewhere is either visiting Lentil Island or made a stop to restock on supplies. Unlucky for her to meet up with us."

"How do you know it's a her?"

Valentine rolled her eyes. " _Dark pink_ hull. Any male Captain choosing that color would never hear the end of it. I've never heard of any Okama Captains either, so I'm ninety-five per cent sure it's a her."

I glanced at Miss Valentine from the corner of my eye. It was at times like this, I remembered that she was an elite trained bounty hunter/assassin, and she had significantly more knowledge about the softer, finer details of the world than I did. My knowledge of the world was limited to only the Straw Hat's adventures, and the brief snippets of worldbuilding outside of it, so while I did know, considerably a lot, there was still so much I didn't know.

"So, are we killing the Captain? Capturing her for ransom? Stealing her ship? Destroying her ship?"

"Someone's eager."

Valentine shrugged. "You've been training me for combat for the past several weeks, but I haven't actually, _fought_ anyone yet. I can't have gone through all that for nothing."

"You'll get your time to shine. Just not today. For now, we hand over Dorry and Brogy's heads, collect the bounty, do a little shopping, restock on supplies, and we make a beeline for Alabasta. Nothing else."

"But –"

"Nothing. Else."

She crossed her arms. "Fine – fine. Nothing else."

"Good. Now, come on – give me hand with the heads. These things are heavy."

* * *

|I. A. M. V|

* * *

"What do you mean, _you can't pay?_ "

The curly-haired Marine bastard in front of me with his rat-face, bucktooth and slimy smug-merchant grin dropped his hands to the side as he shook his head.

"Yes, yes, it's impressive you managed to kill giants – but these wanted posters are over a hundred years old. No one even knew that these giants were still alive."

"Last I checked, wanted posters didn't come with an expiration date."

The rat-faced Marine cleared his throat, the irritating sound of phlegm travelling from nostrils to trachea almost enough to make me deck him across the face. With a perpetually smug grin, he continued.

"W-well, it's a shame." He said. "But – no one will pay a bounty for pirates over a century old. Or – or what, did you think we'll pay interest? A hundred million beli one hundred years ago is almost a billion beli today. We – the Marines – we don't pay interest on bounties. And – can they even be called pirates? Anything they did one hundred years ago to anyone doesn't make a difference now. Yes, yes - even the current Admirals, the amazing Admirals, weren't alive when these… giants… committed whatever thing they did. So – so – no one cares for their death. You are not owed their bounties."

Two fellow Marine officers in the room sniggered, all while rat-face continued to smile. "You –"

"Captain…." Valentine tapped me on my shoulder. She shook her head, slowly.

"Right. Right. You can't demand anything of us, Bounty Hunters. We – we are the Marines. Your luck is tough, In any case, we – we will be taking the giants heads, to – to ensure the criminals are properly disposed of… and their death is logged… yes… logged in our records."

I knew, from the beginning, that something was suspicious with the town. Perhaps it was the way when we approached, Marines seemed to stare at us greedily. Or perhaps, it was because I saw one Marine officer, kicking aside a woman and laughing to his peers as he strolled down the street, acting like he was owed respect. Or maybe it was the children who throw stones at a Marine, cursing them as they ran, and the Officer using his baton to slam them into the ground.

The reason why Valentine had tapped me on my shoulder, and gave me that look was clear.

"You're… crooked."

Rat-face dragged more phlegm down his throat. "How – how dare you! You are nothing more than a c-common b-bounty hunter! You dare question A-Absolute Justice? I – I should have you thrown in a cell!"

Ratface turned his gaze to Valentine. A leery grin came along.

"A-and we should take that woman… along. P-perhaps a night in one of our… detention facilities, w-will make you learn y-your lesson."

"…what did you just say?"

"A-are – are you h-hard of hear –"

" **Mashallah.** "

In Arabic, the phrase could translate to meaning 'God has willed it.'

It was not so much of an explosion. I didn't quite understand it myself, when my right hand snagged out, all five fingers grasping the man's forehead, and all five fingers igniting simultaneously. The room filled with the smell of burning meat, as the bastard whose name I never cared to learn and would never care to learn could barely scream for a second, before his skull exploded and splattered the room with bone fragments and grey matter.

I wiped down the brain splatter from my outfit, looking up to stare at the two other Marines in the room who'd shakily brought up their flintlock rifles to me. "Y-you – you can't get away with –"

" **Inshallah.** "

In Arabic, that could be translated to 'If God Wills it.'

Applying just enough force of explosion to punch my hand through their chests, I searched for the beating organs, exploding it with a vengeance. They dropped like flies, and I cursed underneath my breath at the welching sound of my blood-soaked gloves.

"Fuck. I swear, I'm going to enslave someone just so they can do my laundry."

Miss Valentine stood in the corner, her arms crossed.

"What?"

"I don't know, Captain. What happened to _nothing else?_ "

"That was before the crooked Marine bastard pissed me off."

"So…" Valentine's eyes twinkled. "All it takes to piss you off is the idea of someone else having their way with me?"

My lips dried. "Well –" I kept my mouth close. "I mean –" My mouth opened, but shut. "Fuck."

"…Mikita."

"What?"

"My name, Captain." She said. "It's Mikita."

"Oh." I said. "Mikita." I repeated. "Miki." I said. "Miki-chan?"

"You'll get there," she laughed. "So… ready to fight our way through a Marine base, raid their vault, and introduce the Devil Pirates to the world?"

"My, Mikita," I said, drawing a smiley-face of blood across my lip. "I thought you'd never ask."

She stared at me.

I stared back.

"What?"

"Did you really just rub that guy's blood on your lips?"

"…I got caught up in the moment."

"…"

"…"

"Shut up."

Mikita laughed.

"Aye aye Captain. Aye aye."


	7. The Enemy of My Enemy

**And this chapter is rated 'M' for 'Muthafucker!' which is probably the reaction I'm going to get once you've read it to the end.**

 **We finally hit 1k reviews which is awesome. Whoo! Thanks for the support guys!**

 **And to the reviewer Kthyress with your character analysis, yes, yes, you're right about a lot of things in your review, though you missed a few, which I'm sure you'll come to understand as the story progresses.**

* * *

 **I Am Mr. Five**

* * *

Understanding. The ability to piece together the grander picture of a scattered jigsaw puzzle. Man was forever condemned with the curse of ignorance, spouted by the likes of Aristotle and existing in biblical days since Adam's decision to take a bite of the forbidden fruit. Human nature, was such that we were infinitely curious beings. As long as man existed, that hairless bipedal monkey, there would always be a member of the species, an outlier, a deviant, who would seek, with fervor and vigilance to find questions where the universe had already provided answers.

I was no different. Laughter ripping from my throat as I severed spinal cords from heads and sent jawbones ejecting through necks. Clarity descended upon my form like a vengeful god scrubbing away post-coital bliss. In between the rush of adrenaline that came from dodging bullets, the uncomfortable sense of ecstasy that came from appearing before man and woman alike, drinking the desperate terror in their eyes as they recognized that their final moments were upon them.

"P-P-Please – m-mercy -"

Blood upon my lips, I hugged the shivering Marine, whispering softly into her ear. " **Allahu Akbar.** "

Truly, indeed, god was great. Whatever deity it was, out there, that brought me to this world. That allowed me, to breath in, with a deep, satisfied air, the intoxicating scent of carnage. Whatever deity it was, that helped me acclimatize me to this body. Whatever deity it was, out there, sitting, cackling, their boxers at their ankles, lotion in hands as they stroked their twitching cock to my exploits.

"M-Monsters!"

"T-they're monsters!"

"Wrong."

Understanding. It was a shame when man failed to arrive at it. Their lives, ultimately, were perhaps worth less to me than the fish and sea kings I consumed for dinner. Killing them was not so much a chore, as it was a routine. Mario, shattering a brick. Sonic, collecting rings. Pacman, eating pellets.

They weren't enemies. They weren't obstacles.

"We're Devils."

They were just pick-ups in the terrain.

" **Allahu Akbar."**

Understanding.

When I found her, racing across the carnage, killing with movements to fast to track, it became clear to me. The why. This world was a place where natural selection shined through. There was no justice. There was no honor. There was only power, and those who could use it.

She was not attracted to me, as a person, she was attracted to the power I wielded. The security I possessed. The ability to indulge in her worst impulses and most repressed desires, without consequence. Without judgment.

"And the violent taketh it by force."

The world was a vast ocean overpopulated with pirates and crooked enforcers of justice. Peace was an alimony given from the strong to the weak. Choice of partners were decided not by meaningless virtues such as nobility, strength of character or sense of humor. In the lawless world of pirates, the top candidate for a partner was someone you believed could survive. Next, came a person you believed could protect. Protect you from a stronger pirate, who'd arrive with a hook for a hand, a belly full of ale and a fat cock, itching to stick it into the first pair of legs he could sight.

Unlike the peaceful world I came from, where the choice of who to love rarely depended on their ability to survive a bar fight, things were different here. The world of One Piece was almost medieval in that regard. It followed the law of the jungle, in that regard. It mattered little your proclivities and hiccups, as long as you were strong, as long as you could protect – you were a prime candidate for a partnership.

"Cap'n – you alright?"

She appeared before me, a blur of movement. There was considerably less blood on her outfit than there was on mine. Then again, her chosen method of going through the collectibles was arguably cleaner than mine.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. My, my, that beautiful chest. "My eyes are up here."

"And yet, my gaze decidedly chose not to focus on them."

She rolled her eyes. "You've been ogling me for a while now."

My shoulders found themselves giving a nonverbal 'meh'. "Is that a complaint?"

"I didn't say it was."

"You also didn't say it wasn't."

"We're in the middle of battle, you know."

I scoffed. "You've seen me work up more of a sweat eating dinner."

Her eyes sparkled, a bit, and she laughed. She didn't deny the claim. Curious. Was my theory, indeed correct? The women of this world were attracted to power above and beyond all else? Perhaps, with Mikita, it was true. Yet, where did that leave Marianne?

"I think we've cleared out most of them," she placed her hands on her hips. "That was…"

"Disappointing?"

"Fast." She said.

"Disappointing by default then."

Indeed, much of the Marine Base was rubble. Rubble, burning debris, strewn organs, charred corpses beyond recognition, bloods, splattered unto wall, floor and ceiling alike. There was no one moving. No sound to be heard. I estimated we cleared out about four hundred… maybe five-hundred of them? I didn't care to count. If only there was the occasional scoreboard telling me how many lives I'd managed to end.

"I… expected a bit more of a challenge." She said. "It was easy. Too easy. I didn't even go as fast as I'm capable of going. I didn't even go _half_ of that. And yet…" She shook her head, turning to glare at me. "You've turned me into a monster."

"You're welcome."

The blonde sighed. "So… what now?"

"Now we – " My hearing, picked up something. Sounds. Rumbling. Approaching. Footsteps. At least fifty… sixty? "…we welcome our new guests."

The new batch of Marines that barged into the base were the same cookie-cutter grunts wielding pistols and flintlock rifles. They were also of weak constitution, as many of them took one look at I and Mikita's masterpiece and collapsed, clutching their hands over their mouths in failed attempts to keep the vomit from spewing over the floor. Wisely, many immediately understood that it was a wasted effort, and retched about without restraint.

 _Entering professional mode_.

While it would me amusing, funny even, to create a cognitive dissonance by greeting the Marines with cheer, I already knew the type of image I wanted to project. Fear was just another tool in the arsenal.

"Who… who has done this?"

A Captain, as Mikita told me. A familiar one. One that shouldn't have been here. Then again, I supposed it made sense to encounter her. She had arrived on Alabasta after the conclusion of the whole Crocodile-debacle, which meant she had to have been on route to Alabasta when the debacle was happening.

"Hina demands answers!"

Pink hair. Third-person speech. Captain's jacket. Top, pants, shoes – it was most certainly her. Captain Hina. Smoker's old classmate.

Truly, God is great.

* * *

|I. A. M. V|

* * *

Hina's stomach was ill. Hina had seen, a lot of things in Hina's days as a Marine, but never had Hina seen anything like this. A massacre of this level was unprecedented. Undocumented. Hina's eyes saw the burnt carcasses and sprawled intestines, and Hina's stomach kicked. Hina swallowed hard. Hina swallowed down and steeled Hina's mind.

There were two people, standing in the middle of the courtyard. One was a woman, blonde hair, rainbow skirt and jacket. Hina could feel an odd, ominous aura from the woman. The woman was in good physique. Better physique than Hina herself. That was unusual, Hina noted. The woman hung of the shoulders of the man, and that was where Hina's heart started beating fast.

The man was dark skinned. Blackened hair, red jacket, sunglasses. He was covered in blood. Soaked in it. The man's hands were in his pockets, and his expression was unreadable. There was no emotion to be found there. Hina could not tell if the man was happy, angry, upset, bored or irritated. His presence took up the room, Hina noted. There was a sensation at the back of Hina's mind, telling Hina that she should run. The man was dangerous. Hina did not know how dangerous, but she knew he was dangerous.

 _Is he a member of a Yonko's crew? A pirate from the New World?_

Only those monsters from that sea gave off the same aura this man did. Already, to Hina's side, Hina could see that Hina's men were shaken. They were terrified. The man's silent demeanor and oppressive aura, along with the sight of the massacre had demoralized them.

"Hina demands answers." Hina repeated. Hina needed to regain Hina's mettle. "Hina wants answers. Now. Hina asks who you are?"

The man's expression did not change. Hina could not see a reaction. It unnerved Hina. The woman, however, did smirk. She smirked, Hina noted, as if she was amused.

Something, in an instant, changed. Hina only heard the cries of the men. Hina turned, not ready for the sight.

"C-Captain –"

Hina's men, lay, dying. Dead. Holes, punctured through their chests. Clean. The woman, the smirking woman, stood in the middle, her right-hand dripping with blood. Hina's heart roared.

"HINA WILL MAKE YOU PAY –"

Hina swung wide. Hina's Ori-Ori no Mi was meant to capture. Hina shaped it, into long iron bars that would catch the woman.

"My you're slow."

Hina's heart turned to ice. The woman was behind Hina, patting her hand over Hina's back. _Soru?_ Hina knew. That level of speed was something only who had mastered _those_ arts could attain. Hina spun around, trying again –

Pain exploded from Hina's left leg. Hina let out a cry. Hina looked down, to see Hina's left knee bent the opposite direction.

"Even your Devil Fruit doesn't make a difference."

Pain exploded from Hina's right leg. Hina crashed unto the ground. Hina couldn't stand. Hina grit Hina's teeth, summoning an iron dome. The iron dome protected Hina like a turtle-shell. Hina breathed, gasping, trying to force her mind off the pain. Hina knew that Hina's consciousness would not last. Hina's mind was overwhelmed with pain.

Something connected against Hina's dome. Hina's eyes went wide. A fist. A fist, through Hina's dome. A fist, puncturing hole through solid iron. Fingers slipped between the gap. It was the woman. _She… she is strong as well?_ With nothing but brute strength, the woman tore open Hina's dome.

Hina noticed the man was standing beside her. His presence was fire. Hina felt as if Hina was in front of a burning inferno. The man, leaned, staring at Hina.

"My name... is V."

Then, Hina saw the light.

* * *

|I. A. M. V|

* * *

"Did you really have to break her knees?"

Mikita and I walked down the cliff from the Marine Base with the unconscious Captain slung across my shoulder. I'd been fortunate enough to find a pair of seastone handcuffs on her, and judicious enough to apply it.

"You said I shouldn't kill her. And I didn't kill her."

"…you crippled her on purpose, didn't you?"

Mikita clutched her chest in an exaggerated fashion. "Me? I could never!" Her eyes trailed over to Hina's unconscious form. "So… what's the ransom on a Marine Captain worth anyway?"

I shrugged, groaning when the action sent Hina falling from my shoulders unto the ground. Sighing, I settled for dragging her against the dirt by her hair. "I don't think anyone's ever had the balls to try it before, so it should be a lot."

"Should be?"

"We got screwed over with Dorry and Brogy's bounties, but a Marine Captain can typically take down a lot of bounties in the thirty to ninety million beli range. So, we'll start off Hina's ransom at three-hundred million to cover for our losses with some extra on top, and we'll double it each time they try to jerk with us."

"You really think they'll pay the ransom?"

I shrugged. "If they do, that's great. If they don't – still great. Just means we get to keep her, and advertise to the world that there's a pirate crew who can literally screw over their Captains. Either way, it's a win-win situation."

On approaching the bottom of the cliff, I noticed immediately that there were a lot of the citizens… villagers? Gathered around. Several of them in fact. From old men, to children, to youths, all giving hushed and muttered whispers as they stared at the ash and smoke coming from the Marine Base.

Numerous pair of eyes came over to both myself and Mikita, with more eyes landing on the person I was dragging behind me, and what exactly she was wearing. An old man approached, walking with a terrible gait and a cane, bald and bearded, he rose a shaky finger.

"You… the Marines…"

"Dead." I said.

"…all of them?"

"All except one," I rose Hina's unconscious body into the air. "I'm keeping this one."

There were several hushed mutters. "The Marines… are gone?"

The mutterings and whispers grew in tempo. "They're… they're finally gone – I – I can't believe it –"

Eyes turned to each other, and at once, the people of Lentil Island broke into cheer, laughing excitedly, swinging their arms and whooping like Looney Tunes characters. Mikita gave me a weird look, and I gave her a small, toothy grin in turn. _These poor fools._

"Why are you celebrating?"

The elder cleared his throat. "You see – those marines, they made our lives hell. They abused –"

"Stop." I rose my hand. "I know that the Marines were crooked. But that doesn't answer my question. Why are you celebrating?"

The gathered villages muttered, their cheery air dying as it was replaced by confusion. "The Marines are finally gone, you said you got rid of them all!"

"I did." I said, nodding. "And do you know what I am?"

Understanding. It was a beautiful thing. I saw it dawn on the eyes of the elderly. The younger ones still didn't get it. "You're a pirate."

"Exactly." I said, nodding. "To be more accurate, I'm the pirate who just took down an entire base of Marines. Do you know what that means?"

The Elder's frail hand shook. "What… what do you want?"

"A fair sum." I rose my hand. "Twenty thousand beli per adult male head. Ten thousand beli per female. Five thousand beli per child. Pay me for saving you from your woes, and I'll set sail from your island and never look back."

There were, as expected, cries of shock and dismay. "That's too much!"

"You unfortunate souls seem to be misunderstanding something."

I flared it. I had some more practice with it since I was on Little Garden. _Killing Intent_. Taking my overwhelming desire to end and terminate existence, and bursting it out in the form of an oppressive aura. The villagers staggered. Some collapsed to their knees. Others, pissed themselves. Some, clutched their chests, the shock too much for them as they went into cardiac arrest. And some of the older, simply found themselves unconscious.

"It would literally take me nothing to simply ransack your homes, take your treasures, wives, daughters – burn down your ancestry and eliminate you all from this speck of existence…"

I sighed.

"But I am a benevolent pirate. So, I ask, instead, that rather than I strip you of your things, you give them willingly. My price is not up for discussion. If you cannot pay, I will kill you. If your neighbor cannot pay, I will kill you. If you try to cheat me, I will kill you. If you try to escape, I will kill you. I do not care how you do it, but do it. I know the exact number of men, women and children on this island. If I get even a single beli less than I am owed – "

I flared my desire to kill a second time.

"There will no longer be a Lentil Island on the Grand Line."

I slung Hina over my shoulder.

"You have until Midnight."

There was no need for me to look back, Mikita and I left, leaving the silent, foreboding villagers to stare down at their feet, lost in their own worries.

All in a day's work for a pirate.

* * *

|I. A. M. V|

* * *

 **Pop Rock Candy**

 **Lentil Island Docks**

"Mari-chaaaaan –"

Climbing back aboard the docks, I tossed Hina unto the deck and made my way over to the pouting redhead, stretching my hands open for a big hug.

"Come, give your Captain a hug."

As I was still covered in blood, I understood her reluctance, watching her shake her head. _'Shower.'_

"If you can't accept me at my worst…"

' _Shower.'_ Marianne tilted her head. ' _Who's that?_ '

"Marine Captain. We're going to ransom her back to the Marines." Mikita spoke up, floating about the deck. "…Marianne, you… you went shopping? I love the new look."

 _New look?_ When I looked her over, I realized she had, in fact, changed her outfit. She was wearing a pair of blue short-shorts, accompanied with a dark red tank-top and a black short jacket on top. Her hair was, rather than being in pigtails as I'd come to accustom with her, pulled back into a single long braid. The look was completed with a dainty schoolbag that hung from her shoulders.

In a lot of ways, it did a lot to make her look more… _mature._ Or perhaps it was merely the tank-top, doing magic to actually highlight the fact that Marianne had breasts? Or was it the short-shorts making me realize her thighs weren't at all lacking in necessary meatiness…

She spun around, smiling, before turning to me. I could tell that she wanted me to comment. "Excellent, fashion-wise. Defense wise, I would say no."

She crossed her arms and pouted, gesturing to Mikita. ' _She wears revealing clothing all the time,'_

"She's also faster than a speeding bullet and can make herself nigh-invincible by adjusting her weight. Mikita could fight with nothing but tape to cover her nipples and still wipe the floor with enemies. You aren't quite the same."

Marianne glanced at Mikita. ' _You told him your name.'_

"I decided the Captain could use a break."

"You told Marianne your name before you told me?"

A groan interrupted Mikita before she could make a comment. The sole non-member of the Devil Pirates on deck was waking up, no doubt groggy. Groggily, she pushed herself up off the deck, trying to stand, only to fail, flail around, and roll. The seastone cuffs were still in place after all.

"Hina… w-w-where…?"

"My ship." I said.

My voice was all the trigger she needed. Her eyes snapped open, and she tried, immediately to rise to her feet. The keyword, was _tried_.

"Hina's… legs! Hina's legs! What have you done to Hina's legs!"

The cauterized stumps that ended where Hina's knees began were not exactly my idea of a good time. Ultimately, it was the pain from blasting off her legs and cauterizing the wounds to stop her from bleeding to death that had knocked her out. Mikita didn't hold back, and had completely obliterated Hina's kneecaps with her attacks. Sure, there might be some doctor of sorts on Lentil Island, but unless he was Trafalgar-fucking-Law, there was no way he would have put her legs back together.

The whole 'stumps-for-legs' thing was bringing out an amputee fetish I never knew I had. Strange how the little things made you think.

"Hina's legs! Hina's legs! Hina's legs!"

"Mari-chan, do you mind being a dear and making the nice Captain go quiet?"

Marianne complied. She reached within her school bag, withdrawing an easel, some paint, and a brush. With swift brush work, she painted a sigil over Hana's shirt with blue paint. The hyperventilating Marine Captain went still, closing her eyes, and drifting into an quiet state of serenity.

"Thank you Mari-chan."

I approached the girl, and patted her on her head. She dodged my pats, raising her hands into an 'X.'

' _Shower._ '

"Alright, alright."

I pointed to Mikita. "Miki, while I'm washing off, I need you to go through Captain Hina's ship, strip it of everything of value, and find the Den-Den Mushi. Someone, somewhere will no doubt be calling her sooner or later to check-in, and we don't want to miss that."

"Got it."

"Mari-chan, keep an eye on the Marine, and also keep an eye out for any islanders. They should be arriving at midnight with their cash in tow."

' _Okay, captain.'_

Going below deck, I took off my bloodied clothes, gloves, and outfit before stepping into the shower, turning on the faucet as the hot water came blasting in full force. My mind replayed the events of the day, causing me to sigh over the annoying fact that I'd lost Dorry and Brogy's heads in lieu of my indiscriminate explosions, but, if things went well, then I should be able to make up for the loss from profiting off Lentil Island and Hina's ransom.

' _Now that I think about it…_ '

The most effective way to profit as a pirate would be the Arlong route. Finding a town and subjugating it with taxes, but having the sense not to stay in the town too long. _Isn't that just raiding though?_

Raiding. Like the Vikings. To approach from the shore, raid the town for goods, supply and riches, then hop on back unto the ocean and continue sailing. However, even the Vikings had a base of operations – a country – they made fully theirs and settled down to farm and cultivate crops or wait out the winter.

I lathered my hair with soap, humming underneath my breath as I thought about how varied and diverse the Grand Line was. Even assuming I didn't want to raid from place to place, I could simply attack merchant vessels or transport lines. The Grand Line was such a place that no one country could have it all, and goods from places needed to be traded constantly. No doubt the World Government Nations had several trade routes in effect that allowed the transport of important materials from supplier to consumer.

Finding those trade routes could net me a surprise or fortune, especially the military ones.

The bathroom door opened, raising my ire as I picked up the familiar light steps and heartbeat of one of my crew members. I turned around, fully, giving Marianne a blank stare as the water rained down on my form.

"I thought I told you to keep an eye on the Marine Captain."

Marianne, was, admittedly, unabashed by my nude form. She'd seen it enough times already, although her eyes always strayed down low. Although there weren't quite races like black or white or Asian in the One Piece world, a lot of the character design was inspired or intended to take after some of the races from place to place. Mr. 5 just so happened to be dark-skinned enough to be considered as someone of African descent, and, fortunate for me, the stereotype about black men that heavily populated the internet and possessed its own genre of pornography turned out to be true.

In simpler terms, I could be among those five men beloved by Piper Perri and not find myself out of place.

Marianne managed to turn her gaze aside, coughing lightly into her hand. ' _I put her in a trance._ '

My brow twitched. "I think it's time I put an end to this."

' _Put an end to –"_

The realization of how fast I could move at times still rarely sunk in. Turning off the faucet, emerging from the shower, sweeping the unbelievably _light_ redhead into my arms, and returning back into the shower all before the final droplet of water touched down. Marianne had little time to think, and littler time to protest, before I turned on the faucet again.

She shuddered from the hot water pouring down her clothes. She gave a blank expression as if to say ' _are you serious?_ ' and my lips twitched. I slammed my hand against the wall of the showers, giving her no space to escape. Pressing my body closer to her, I reveled in seeing her face go redder and redder with each passing second.

"You've been having a little bit too much fun teasing me these past few days. I don't think you teased Mr. 3 anywhere near the same amount."

' _Mr. 3 was my partner.'_

I pressed myself closer to her. "And I?"

' _You're someone who killed two giants for me.'_

She didn't back down. She stared, into my eyes, with far more conviction than I expected someone of her diminutive stature to have.

' _You're the person who saved me.'_

Slowly, articles of Marianne's wet clothing began to fall off, as she removed them.

' _I thought I would die on that island.'_

Her top fell off. Her breath, soft, warm, exhaled as droplets of hot water ran down her nipples.

' _I almost died… many times. The giants, almost stepping on me. The animals… nearly eating me. And you…'_

Her short-shorts came down, as did her underwear. She was a natural redhead, and her legs were thicker perhaps, than I'd given them credit for.

'… _you killed them all. Destroyed the whole island. You made my nightmare go away._ '

Her right hand stretched, touching my chest. Her body was warm, which was something I came to realize.

' _That's more than what my own parents ever did for me.'_

"I didn't do it for a reward."

' _We both know that isn't true._ '

 _Smart_. I realized. _Too smart_. Marianne's eyes were gleaming. There was more understanding in the eyes of a sixteen-year old than there had any right to be.

' _You want to use me. My gift._ '

"Mari –"

' _Shh.'_ She placed her index finger on my lips. ' _I'm not complaining.'_ The index finger departed. ' _All I've ever known, is how to be used by other people.'_

My throat felt dry. She pushed softly against me.

' _But… I don't mind being used by you._ '

She smiled.

' _I pushed my limits, and boundaries… I know I made you uncomfortable, annoyed and irritated you… and not once, not ever… did you hurt me._ '

"I would never."

' _I know. That's why… I don't mind if it's you…'_ She leaned in, closer, closer. I could feel her breath. Her thighs warmed mine. Her nipples, pushed against my stomach.

' _If it's you… then I do not mind….'_

Her lips were soft.

"Use me… to your satisfaction."


	8. V is for 'Villain'

**In light of recent global events, I realize that I've actually been a softie.**

 **You see, real world atrocities and crazy shit is apparently outdoing fictional ones on a daily basis, and that just makes me look at my work and wonder how I can call myself an edgelord writer when some fuckers in reality do sick shit that my twisted imagination and tortured psyche can't even dream about.**

 **No more! No more! From today henceforth, I'm doubling down on my title as the edgiest motherfucker to ever create dark fan fiction. There shall be more blood! More violence! More chaos! More death! More edge! So much edge that you'll cut yourself just scrolling down the screen and turn your devices into lethal weapons that'll cut through the heart of this dystopian existence -**

 ***Cough.*Cough*Clears Throat***

 **Er-hem.**

 **All jokes aside, I'm not actually making things any edgier, because too much edginess is not enough edginess by virtue of it being too edgy to be edgy.**

 **Hope everyone is safe, and without going into any of the political issues plaguing the west, let's head back to business.**

 **Wanna give a shoutout to all my favorite people, Ouroboros Maelstrom, Lolmax, Atlanrom, Gosster, Landwhale172, aminblastbro, Tacomaster, and everyone else who supported me with inspiration, advice and by purchasing my book "Janus and the Prince" on Amazon! You guys rock - and I hope you all manage to beat 2020 and stand with me on December the 31st, and give a giant middle finger to the clock when we enter 2021.**

 **And lets hope 2021 doesn't become 2020 2: Electric Boogaloo.**

 **Stay safe, stay frosty, protect yourselves, and read some sweet fan fiction.**

 **That said -**

 **If you're reading this, please note, there WILL be lots of character deaths and tons upon tons of questionable content in this story, perhaps from this chapter onward, perhaps not. So be sure to read responsibly, understand the difference between reality and fiction, and have fun in orchestrated fictional suffering that mirrors real meaningless human suffering! Hooray!**

* * *

 **I Am Mr. Five**

* * *

 **Lentil Island Docks**

 **Pop Rock Candy**

I'd been reeling from post-coital bliss when the villagers of Lentil Island brought their offerings. The bags of gold and jewelry were presented before me, and my unfocused eyes could notice that the chief was saying something. His lips were moving, as were his hands, gesticulating in one manner or another, asking for something. I nodded my head, and the villagers eyes lit up.

I paid it no heed. My gaze was flickered to the redheaded girl beside me. Sifting through our recently acquired riches with childlike enthusiasm. My stare didn't linger. My sunglasses, worn even at night, made it so my gaze wouldn't be found.

"Oh, thank you, thank you!"

The villagers were thanking me for something. My mind was replaying the showers. The memory of soft lips and wet tongue, latching around me, working with expertise. _Expertise_. That was the word. That was the word.

My hand ran through my hair. _Alcohol_. My throat desired it. _Tobacco?_ I'd never smoked in my previous life. There wasn't anything stopping me from doing so now. "Cigarette." The words escaped my lips. "Need a cigarette."

There was no one left on the deck, I realized. The villagers were gone. Marianne was gone. Still, a hand emerged, a white stick of death placed between two well-manicured fingers. Taking the object from her fingers, I snapped mine. A tiny spark, and the well-acquainted smell of smoke greeted me. The death stick landed between my lips, and I took a drag. The smoke made their way through my lungs like concentrated oxygen.

I breathed in, and then out, slowly. A sense of ease travelled through me. I relaxed my body, leaning against the guardrails of the Pop Rock Candy.

"Thanks."

Mikita crossed her arms. The questioning look she tossed me was unfamiliar.

"What?"

"You let them go."

My brows furrowed. "What?"

"The villagers," she said. "They didn't all pay up. And you let them go."

The villagers. The thought came. _So that was why they were thanking me._

"I had sex with Marianne."

"That's why you let them go?"

My head, tilted, up and then down. "She was good."

She made a sound. It sounded like a cross between a grunt and a grumble. "You're joking."

I took a long drag of the cigarette. "She was… _very_ good."

"Is that tomorrow's headline? Local Pirate Captain has sex, loses brain function."

I spat a glob of smoke in her face. "Funny." I said. "Real comedian."

A burst of sea breeze hit the deck. The howling of the wind took the smoke, sending it east along with dust, leaves and anything else too light to stand up against mother nature's breath. Mikita's hair whipped wildly in the wind along with her dress.

She shuddered from the cold. I took off my jacket on instinct, swinging it over her shoulders. She gave me a strange look, but didn't object. She huddled within the larger jacket, staring at me with _something_ in her eyes. "Thanks."

"…it's nothing."

I gestured the cigarette to her. She declined with a shake of her head.

"What's eating you?"

My mind went through several answers. They bounced from questions, to statements, to theories. Standing on a gently rocking boat at a harbor in a town of a world that once only existed to me in the snippets of my childhood and in pages of black and white, my response was to stretch out my hands, slowly, and touch her cheeks.

"…Captain?"

Fleshy. Soft. Three-dimensional. No matter how I dragged it. The face didn't start following cartoon logic and exaggeratedly stretching.

"Ow, ow ow, Captain!" she smacked my hand. Giving me a glare, she rubbed her cheek. "What was that for?"

My lips were unable to keep level. "Just checking." I took another drag of the cigarette, exhaling more smoke into the air. My thoughts strayed to the cancer stick, and how it landed in my hands. "…where did you get this?"

She jerked her finger backwards. "From pinky's ship." The pile of objects and trinkets in bags behind her came to my attention for the first time. Large satchels and bags now present that hadn't been there before, many of them having the words MARINE brandished on the side along with the accompanying sigil.

"You're welcome."

I stubbed the finished cigarette. "I didn't know you smoked."

She shook her head. "Too bitter."

"Maybe some sugar would have helped?"

An exasperated sigh emerged. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Maybe." I wagered. "Maybe not."

My lips pressed tightly together. I felt the smoke in my lungs. Diffusing like oxygen into my body, harmlessly. Exhaling, I re-emerged the smoke, blowing it skywards. A light, pleasant weight settled on my shoulders. It was Mikita. Sitting on my shoulders, thighs brushing against my ears, chest pressing against the back of my skull.

"Talk, Captain. Something's bugging you."

"…why did you join Baroque Works?"

I felt her stiffen a bit at the question.

"Why do you want to know?"

My ears picked up the sound of Marianne's snoring from my room atop the ship. The sound of music, playing softly deep into the town. A fair distance, I heard a young boy confess to his crush, apparently the 'scary pirate' made him realize that he may never get the chance.

"Curiosity, I guess."

Mikita hummed an unfamiliar tune. "Well, for starters, it pays. I mean, it _used to_ pay. Mr. 0 tended to be generous by giving us commissions on the bounties we caught."

"So you joined for the money?"

"That's part of it, I mean, who doesn't want to make more money?" she huffed. "The other part was security."

Her ankles locked underneath my chin. I barely registered their presence. "Security?"

"Bounty hunters don't last long on their own," she said. "Pirates always sail in crews, and Marine Officers have the entire Marine organization at their back – but as a bounty hunter, you don't have any of that. Take down one bounty, and the crew members of your target will hunt you down for revenge. Take down enough, and you find yourself building a small army of enemies – all of them eager to tear you limb from limb."

"And of course," she cleared her throat. "Being a young, gorgeous, charming woman like myself, my enemies will more or less be pleased to ravish me."

A dramatic sigh escaped her lips. "Woe! Woe, the perils of beauty."

"Indeed," I intoned dryly. "What a horrible curse, being beautiful."

She made a gesture I could only guess was wiping a mock-tear. "Thank you for understanding, Captain." She sighed. "Thus, it is with a heavy-heart, that I chose instead to join Baroque Works and have a partner who could watch my back for my enemies, while I did the same for his."

"…and did I?" I asked. "Watch your back?"

She was silent, for several seconds. She let out a small sound. I felt her, resting on my head, one arm atop the other, and chin atop both. Her ankles uncrossed, and swung idly back and forth, like a child on a swing.

"What do you think?"

"We were good partners."

"Wrong." She said, stiffly.

"We weren't?"

"We were great partners."

"Ah." I said. "I see."

Leaning forward on the ship's railing, I gave another glance out to the open sea. There was still a part of me that felt this was all a fever-dream. An ultra-vivid hallucination. A make-belief world endorsed by my imagination in my final, dying moments. Maybe to give me solace? Maybe to make it feel like the life I'd lived before this one had been worth something?

But, the more I thought about it, the more I felt that it couldn't be the case. My imagination wasn't this rich. This bountiful. It was sorely lacking. I couldn't create people and lives and give them complexity and meaning, when I was barely able to navigate the complexity of my daily struggle and find the meaning of my own existence.

I'd have been comfortable ignoring all these thoughts. Pushing them to the back of my mind as I enjoyed every ounce of power that was made available to me. Lived a purely carefree hedonistic experience, day after day, second after second. Yet when I remembered what Marianne told me –

Mikita pinched my cheek. "You're overthinking something again." She said. "Stop thinking whatever it is you've been thinking and let's do something fun."

"Like what?"

"I found some alcohol on pinky's ship, along with tons of cards."

"I thought you hate alcohol."

"I hate the _taste_ of alcohol." She huffed. "But everyone needs to get decently buzzed once in a while. Maybe we could even get pinky to join in?"

I thought it over. "I don't think she'll be willing."

"That's what'll make it _extra_ fun."

I took some extra seconds to think it over.

"Unless you're afraid you're going to lose?"

She said the magic words. I was predictable, in that way.

"I hope you're a better gambler than you are a cook."

* * *

XXXXXX

* * *

"Call."

Poker, it seemed, was the same, no matter what world you were in. The cards, rules, terms, and systems. I knew that the One Piece World was diverse and inspired from numerous real-world cultures, but I hadn't expected the tiny things like games to transfer over. Chess, no doubt, would also be the same, and there was no doubt that in Wano Country, they would have the Shogi and Go variants.

"Captain, your move."

Mikita and I were both, clearly, buzzed from the alcohol. My list of immunities had finally reached a limit, and I was as weak to alcohol as the common man. No, I was probably weaker. The alcohol of modern-day standards did _not_ at all compare to what these inhuman monsters in the One Piece world drank. It was more accurate that Mikita was buzzed, and I was wasted pretending to be buzzed, because I didn't want it to be let out that I couldn't hold down my alcohol.

It made no sense. Shouldn't I have inherited Mr. 5's alcohol resistance?

Unless Mr. 5 had no alcohol resistance to speak of, and Mikita had known all along. It made sense, in a way, that a literal bomb-man would keep away from liquids that were highly flammable.

"Fold."

The cards sprawled out on the deck spun and twisted in my vision. Mikita's smug, clearly knowing grin, was overwhelmingly blatant. To my left, her hands still locked in place with seastone cuffs, and her cards hidden in them, Hina tossed the ever-slightly heated glare between myself and Mikita.

"How… how did we get her to agree to play with us again?"

Mikita's smug grin grew.

"What?"

"That's the third time you've asked that question, Cap'n."

It was?

Well, shit. I was definitely drunker than I thought.

"No, but really –"

"All in."

"Ho, pretty confident aren't you, pinky?"

"Hina does not lose."

"Except for that time when you lost your crewmen, your ship, and your legs."

The Marine Captain slammed her cards down onto the deck. "Hina will recover. Hina will seek retribution. When blond head lies in the bucket after executioner's axe has fallen, Hina will be the one to crack joke."

Ignoring the three Hinas in my vision as hallucinations, I shook my head a bit to clear them out. One Hina returned, clad in her Marine Captain overcoat, with her pants legs tied where the stumps of her legs ended. Her cheeks had a red tint to them, and judging by the numerous, numerous bottles of alcohol that laid scattered around us, I figured that Hina had been drinking just as we had.

… _how did that happen?_

"Big talk pinky. Let's see what you've got."

Cards unveiled on the table. The seven of clubs, diamonds and hearts, along with a ten of spades and the ten of diamonds.

"Full house. Not bad, but I've got a better one."

Four Kings, from hearts to spades, and then the Queen of diamonds.

"Four of a kind," Mikita cackled. "Better luck next time, pinky."

"Outrageous!" Hina cried. "You are clearly cheating!"

"Of course, I am. I'm a pirate." Mikita said. "It's not my fault you can't cheat."

"Despicable wench."

"Ugly bitch."

"Pirate slut."

"Marine whore."

"Dishonorable cunt."

Mikita paused for a second.

"Cripple."

Hina let out a strangled, raged cry. "If not for these cuffs –"

"You wouldn't be able to do anything even if you had them off," Mikita said. "You're too _slow_ , remember? Slow, and _weak_." She snorted. "How'd you manage to become a Marine Captain anyway, with that level of skill?"

Hina slowly grit her teeth. "Hina did not anticipate pirates from the New World to appear in Paradise. Had Hina known –"

"What?" Mikita frowned. "We've never been to the New World."

"Lies." Hina gestured her hands to me. "That is clearly a pirate veteran of the New World. Even completely inebriated, he gives off an ominous aura of danger that only those who have sailed that sea manage to exude."

So, I wasn't fooling anyone by my act that I wasn't wasted, but I _was_ fooling people into thinking I was from the most dangerous seas on the Grand Line. I'd take that win.

"Captain hasn't been to the New World." Mikita gave me a glance. "Right?"

"…Perhaps."

Mikita shot a suspicious gaze at me. I tried to shrug, but my shoulders rebelled and ended up swaying like parboiled spaghetti. "The world is a… vast place."

"Indeed," Hina agreed. "Which is why Hina wishes to know why pirates such as yourself killed so many of my fellow innocent –"

"They," the word drawled from my lips. "Were _not_ innocent." I placed my cards flat on the deck. A sense of annoyance hit me as I looked over Hina. She flinched, staggering backwards in an awkward shuffle. I couldn't tell if it was the alcohol, or not, but the longer I looked at her, the further my annoyance grew further.

"Captain –"

"Pirates roam the seas, everywhere – but the marines, _you_ marines, are worse than them."

"The marines are not –"

" **I wasn't done talking.** "

Her lips slapped shut.

"Pirates, at least, are what they say they are. They kill, steal, pillage and destroy, and no one expects them to be anything but pirates." I wagged my finger at her. "But you Marines… the ones supposed to be the peacekeepers and justice holders… you fold your arms to the fight against injustice when it does not suit you. Worse, you become the very tyrants and monsters you claim to protect the world from…"

I wasn't sure where the words were coming from. The annoyance and irritation. My chest burned with an odd sensation that was more than the alcohol. Ignoring the double vision, my hands reached out for more of the liquid, feeling it slide down my throat with a rapid burn. Along with the annoyance, came a different feeling, a _strange_ feeling.

"I know what I am," I rapped at my chest. "There are no pearly white gates and angels waiting for me when I die, nor do I need any. In my lifetime I will turn countless women to widows and children to orphans. I will paint nations red and black with blood and soot. Wherever I sail, the skies shall rain ash and both the innocent and guilty shall tremble and turn to their idols and gods in prayer."

I barked a laugh, raising my mug. "Men will hide their wives and their daughters, their sons and their fathers, and they will take up arms, mites of dust in rebellion against a scorching tempest – and one by one, as the empty graves fill with cremated dust, the world will come to know my name."

I licked my lips, and uttered a single word:

" **V.** "

A pressure, I felt, unlike any other, burst from deep within me. Whether it was the alcohol, or me subconsciously using my power, I couldn't tell. It didn't matter. Their hair flew back, their eyes went wide, and their postures, both, irrevocably straightened.

Hina muttered something under her breath. So softly that I barely heard it. "The King's aura…"

My lips twitched. "Speak up woman."

"Why would you choose to become such a monster?"

Again, my shoulders shrugged like limp noodles.

"Because," I gestured. " _I'm a Pirate._ "

Neither of them understood. Their lack of comprehension remained adamant on their faces, Hina far more so than Mikita. I barked a small laugh from their expressions, shaking my head and reaching out to more alcohol. I couldn't tell how much I'd drank at this point, but, I felt _great_. More than great, in fact.

The sluggishness of my body movements and duplicates I was starting to see still wasn't enough to put a damper on my mood.

"I'll admit, you've impressed me woman," I rose a bottle to Hina. "You still have this much spitfire in you, all things considered. We killed your entire crew and took your legs, but here you are, drinking and gambling with your captors, not the tiniest glimpse of defeat in your eyes."

She shot me a dirty look. "Hina does not break easily."

I licked my lips. A dry chuckle escaped them. My alcohol-stained breath hit my nose and told me of another smell I'd perceived – a challenge. "Is that so?" I shot a glance at Mikita. The blonde gave me an annoyed look, as if she were capable of reading my mind.

"Cap'n –"

"You heard the Marine Captain, didn't you Miki-chan?" I said. "She doesn't _break easily_. Even after you shattered her kneecaps, she doesn't _break_ easily."

It was probably the alcohol; I would tell myself later. At the same time, I felt that it wasn't entirely the alcohol. Oh, no, _I_ was in control here. _I_ had the power here. It was… _intoxicating_ , how one's brain ran through the tiny little things you could do to someone when you had them at your absolute mercy.

Most sane people had possessed the random thought, at least once. The fantasy, of getting one-over on their enemies, or strapping their most reviled and hated foes down into a chair, and methodologically, taking them apart, piece-by-piece, to the sweet sound of glorious retribution.

Most people believed in karma, believed in a just world, believed that what goes around comes around, and when someone got what was 'coming-to-them' we cackled and nodded our heads as we rationalized and justified our schadenfreude.

 _But they're just all excuses –_

 _Excuses_ , _excuses_ , I sang in my thoughts.

Humans were not creatures of logic. We were creatures of pride, biases, jealousy, judgement – we could justify any atrocity so long as it buttered the slices of our ego that needed to be reaffirmed every day that we were _good people_.

Another chuckle. I licked my lips a second time. My gaze divebombed unto Hina's form, a predatory assassin of the heavens selecting an unsuspecting lamb of the earth for a first and final ascension.

"If you're so _hard_ to break then –"

"Cap'n," Mikita cut in. "We still need her for the ransom."

My head, slowly, tilted, in the direction of the blonde. A sense of annoyance, _anger_ , ran through me at the interruption. Why was she interrupting my process? A hummingbird did not dare come in between a falcon and its prey – so _who was she to interrupt me?_

"Would it bother you?"

"What?"

I poked my finger straight forward.

"If I were to pin her down and take her here and now. _Would it bother you?_ "

She went still at the question. My lips went up. I showed my teeth, all thirty-two of them.

"It –" she hesitated. "It has nothing to do with me. It's just… I mean, you said she's a valuable captive and –"

 _Lies._ I could feel it. Tell it. The mounting pressure in my gut continued to grow. My heartbeat blasted in my chest, quickening, racing. I tried to calm it. I failed to calm it. My entire body felt coiled. Wound, like a serpent preparing to strike. The haziness in my mind flittered in like a girl in a skimpy two-piece suit of cumulus clouds.

" _Or,_ " I rasped. "Would you prefer, if _you_ were the one I had my sights on?"

She staggered from the intensity in my gaze. Staggered, before rising. "Captain… you…" her brows furrowed. "I think you had a little too much to drink."

"You didn't answer my question, _Mi-ki-ta~!"_

She couldn't stop me even if she tried. The sonic boom I left in my wake rang in my eardrums as a painful, echoing screech. My Vice-Captain was pinned to the deck. I held down her arms, grinning. She didn't struggle. She didn't _try_ to struggle. It was as if –

 _Wait._

A few seconds passed, and I noticed the look in her eyes. No fear. No apprehension. No hesitation. No reluctance. A few second passed, and my brain started to hurt. An odd pain hit me at the back of my head.

"…Captain… you're totally drunk."

Her alcohol stained breath hit me, and I laughed at the irony.

"So are you."

"Not the same way you are," her arms wrapped around my neck. "You're an aggressive drunk. And I'm…"

She pulled me closer. Her lips were sweet. Honeyed and bitter in the same breath. Her tongue worked its way into my mouth like an introvert finally home from a grand odyssey. I engaged the kiss back, returning it aggressively. I tasted her, _all_ of her, and my tongue dominated hers, claimed _her_ as _mine._

Our mouths departed for air. Breaths hard and fast.

"I'm… a _very_ horny drunk," she admitted. Face red, abashed, unashamed.

"So _it_ would bother you, after all."

Her face scrunched into one of annoyance. "I don't understand why you'd look at other women… I'm right here." She pointed. "What does Mari have that I don't? What does pinky there have that I don't?"

Hina tried her best to act inconspicuous, somehow hoping we'd forget about her. I laughed a bit, shaking my head.

"Even the richest men in the world still want to make more money."

"So you're saying I'm not enough?"

"I'm saying, you don't have to worry about how many women I choose to fuck," I rasped into her neck. "None of them will ever be able to take your place."

She shuddered from my words. Her legs wrapping around me. "Say that again," she whispered. "But slower."

My lips twitched. "You are irreplaceable."

She gasped, moaning into my ear. "More."

"You mean more to me than anyone else."

Her back arched, body shook, as she pressed herself against me and let out soft, heated moans into my neck. "Captain, I – I – I'm – I'm – "

Pressing my lips into her ear, I whispered, " _You mean the world to me._ "

Her legs tightened against my pelvis so hard I almost felt them break. She melted like butter on a hot pan beneath me, toes curling, thighs gyrating, back arched and mouth open. She quivered like a naked leaf. She bit down on her lower lip, muffling her own moans until they were low enough to just be barely audible.

Even utterly inebriated as I was, I could tell my words were a drug to her. An intoxicating drug to her just as power was an intoxicating drug to me. We were addicts and enablers of our own making. I could trace the origin of my addiction for power, but I could not fathom the origin of Mikita's addiction for validation.

"Captain…"

"We aren't quite done yet," I wagged my finger in front of her face. "I'm going to make you enjoy a new kind of intoxicating pleasure…"

I turned to Hina, who had slowly been trying to crawl to her escape. The Marine Captain froze like a deer caught by lights on a grand stage. Mikita's gaze turned to the Captain as well, and her lips, slowly learned to mimic mine.

"Pinky, where do you think you're going?"

"I –"

"The show's only just begun."

She tried, initially, to resist, but it was a futile effort as it was two against one. Mikita being just as drunk, if not drunker than I, held down Hina's arms and explored a new facet of sexuality by locking the woman's lips in a kiss. The One Piece world was wholesome in it's sexual diversity, and it made me wonder if Mikita was also into women or if she was just too drunk and too into it right now to care.

Putting aside unnecessary thoughts, I spread Hina' legs aside gently, careful enough to make sure I didn't hurt her wounds. She tried to close her legs back, but my strength was superior. Burning a literal hole through her pants and underwear with my touch, I switched from heat, to frequency, the sound of vibrations travelling into the air as my entire right hand was engulfed my thousands of tiny microscopic explosions.

It felt a bit like cheating, to be honest. A light touch with my vibrating fingers had her squirming uncontrollably. Merely touching her, touching _any_ part of her, elicited muffled groans and sounds of traitorous whimpers that were swallowed by Mikita's kiss.

I hardly needed to insert my finger into her warmth. Tracing it around, over, up, and down made her body arch and her legs rush to close. Tracing my right hand down her thigh spelling out her name with my fingers, slowly, _painstakingly_ –

It was barely two minutes before she caved, back arching in pleasure, evidence of arousal spraying the air and dripping down my fingers. Mikita detached her lips from Hina's. I rose my hand, showing the Marine Captain the glistening liquid dripping down my knuckles. Her face, I realized, was torn. Conflicted. _Confused_. She looked baffled, as if unable to understand what was happening, or able to understand that it was happening to _her_ –

"All this just from a bit of teasing," I mused. "I wonder what we'll get, once we get serious."

"Don't –" she said, eyes slowly widening. Fear? Apprehension? Concern? I cared little. "S-s-stop –"

"Don't stop?" I mused. "As you wish."

Face first, I buried my tongue. I commanded the muscle to vibrate like waves at max frequency. Hina couldn't hide her pleasure. No doubt, she'd never experienced such pleasure. Vibrators were a thing in this world, as Mikita confessed to, but they weren't commonplace due to varying levels of technology on varying islands. Hina, I felt, struck me as the type of person who'd never used a sex toy before. She had no experience with my oscillating lingual expertise – no _resistance_ to it –

And it showed as epileptic-inducing pleasure wracked her body for the second time in less than five minutes.

Her breathing came in rasps and gasps now. Starved for oxygen, face red beyond measure, sweat dripping down her form.

"Are you enjoying yourself Hina-chan?"

"N-no –"

I let out a tut.

"I suppose that means I have to work _harder_ now don't I?" I bared my teeth. "Hard until I hear you say… _I'm enjoying myself._ "

"Hey, captain, don't forget about me here."

I grinned. "I'd never. In fact, I have the perfect way to make sure _we all_ enjoy ourselves. So, if you position yourself like this –"

"Like… this?"

Mikita pinned down Hina's arms, pressing her chest against that of the panting Marine, lining up their bodies and parts until their wet pusses were sandwiched on top of each other, in a position to explore both of their insides as I wished, or simply ram my dick in the space between them and let my magic do its work.

"Where in the world did you get this kind of idea from?"

I snorted. "Come on, you act like you've never watched –"

 _Porn._ I paused. _That's true_. I doubted there was porn in this world. I mean _certainly_ there was porn, but not exactly to the obscene levels and content that could only exist in a world overrun by the internet and mass-media. Most likely it only existed in magazines and books and –

"Huh."

"Captain…?"

There'd probably be a _lot_ less horny pirates if the world had porn, wouldn't there?

It was something to look into later.

But for _now_ –

I whipped out my dark chocolate dick, and sent the power of vibrations running down through it until an unmistakable _bxzzzzz_ sound was in the air.

"W-what – what is that noise?"

"W-wait, captain, you're not going to seriously use your vibrations to –"

"My name is V, Pirate of Pirates."

I lined myself up –

"Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair!"

And _thrusted._

"CAPTAIN YOU SON OF A -"

"HINA IS GOING TO –"

I _loved_ being a pirate.

* * *

XXXXXX

* * *

 **Pop Rock Candy**

 **The Following Morning**

"Ugh… my head…"

Waking up with a minor headache was not something I wanted to repeat. Waking up naked, however, with three equally naked women on my bed, was something that I _definitely_ wanted to repeat.

Wait… _three?_

"…Marianne? When did you?"

"Keep your voice down!" Mikita hissed. She sat up, her blonde hair in a scattered mess as she glanced around the room. Hina lay naked on the floor, passed out completely. Marianne laid atop my chest, sleeping, or at least, _pretending_ to sleep. I could hear and feel her heartbeat and I knew the rhythm it gave off was currently different from when I'd heard her _actually_ sleeping.

"My head feels several sizes too small for my brain…" Mikita held her head in her hands. "Ugh why did I drink so much…"

She glanced around the room. Her brows narrowed at me.

"What?"

"…I hate you."

I chuckled. "I highly doubt that's the last time I'll hear someone say that."

"…volume!" she held her head, cursing. An accusatory finger pointed at me. "How are you still so…"

"So…?"

"You drank more than pinky and I _combined,_ " she said. "How aren't you throwing up all over the place? And why do you look as if you're not even hungover?"

I glanced at my body. Other than a mild headache and some soreness around my waist from all the sex, I didn't feel that bad. "Devil Fruit physiology?"

"That's so bullshit." She palmed her face. "Your powers are bullshit."

"I know."

"So much bullshit." She repeated again, before turning to Marianne. "Speaking of bullshit…" she spanked the girl _hard_ across her butt. Marianne squeaked as she jumped up. The redhead turned to give a hard glare at the blonde.

"Don't look at me like that, I know how to tell when someone is faking sleep." She turned to Hina. "That goes for you too, pinky."

Hina didn't move, or make any notion that she'd heard Mikita speak. The blonde grumbled a bit, before she lifted Mari-chan on her shoulders and made her way to the door.

'Hey!'

"We shower, now. Then you do your paint brain-magic on me."

'My powers can't cure hangovers!'

"There's a first time for everything."

'But –'

"The only buts I want to hear are yours and mine in the showers! Now, now, now!"

I chuckled a bit, shaking my head as the duo left the room.

Brief memories of the previous night returned to me, and made me cringe a bit. People occasionally told me I was a… problematic drunk. Alcohol removed most inhibitions I had and made me tell people to their face how much I either hated their guts, or wanted to get into their pants. Sometimes both at the same time.

Giving me a feeling of euphoria and a sense of grandiosity was new, however. It made me wonder that if all alcohol in the One Piece world had that effect, then it explained why pirates in general were such large hams. I couldn't exactly conclude on it, anyway, considering I had no idea as to what alcohol production method was used in this world, or if the plants were all of a stronger, more insane variety.

"…you know, you can stop pretending to be asleep now. You weren't fooling anyone to start with."

I placed my legs off the bed and unto the ground, staring at the only other person left in the room. She didn't bother trying to cover up, considering I'd already seen everything there was to see, and her cuffs didn't exactly give her that liberty.

"…why did you keep Hina alive?"

Straight to the point. "Well, you're a valuable captive –"

"Hina is not."

My brow furrowed. "What?"

"Hina has no value."

"You're a Marine Captain. I'm sure the Marines will be willing to pay a hefty price to –"

"The Marine HQ follows code of absolute justice. Marines do not negotiate with pirates. Marines do not trade with pirates. Marines do not conduct any activity which would besmirch the name of the organization. Ransoms are paid only for high-value members of the World Government, Royalty or relatives to royalty, and World Nobles or their relations. Hina does not fall under any of those categories."

The pink-haired woman gave a cold stare. "Marines are soldiers, and Hina has always knows soldiers are expendable."

I thought it over. "You're telling me that no one will pay a ransom for you."

"That is exactly what Hina is saying."

"But you're a Marine Captain."

"Even if Hina was an Admiral – the outcome would not change," she shook her head. "Marines are never to let it be known that pirates outdo them. Should it be known that Hina was captured, Hina's chapter will close. A new Captain will patrol seas where Hina once operated, with new ship and crew, and Hina will be considered K.I.A."

"But you're still alive."

"If Hina were returned unharmed, Hina's loyalty would be questioned. How did Hina remain unharmed if all of Hina's crew and shipmates were killed? It would paint Hina as either a traitor, liar or something in-between. If Hina were to return maimed as you have done, Hina will be considered unfit for duty. A commiseration check will be given to Hina, along with an immediate removal of rank and titles."

My nose furrowed. "Why?"

"Image." She pointed to herself. "A crippled Captain tells a story. A Marine Captain who lost her entire crew, was enslaved, maimed and raped by pirates, only to have survived by whim or luck. It paints a bad light on pirates, yes, but paints a worse light on Marines. Pirates who hear of this tale will feel emboldened, confident and aggressive, and there will be many seeking to recreate such a legacy for themselves. Whereas Marines who hear of this tale will be cautious, wary, and demoralized."

She shook her head.

"It will not be allowed to happen."

The further I thought about it, the more I realized I'd underestimated how badly the Marines would do anything to preserve their reputation to the world as the 'good guys' who always won. Canonically, they'd claimed that the defeat of Crocodile was done by Smoker rather than admit that a Shichibukai went rogue. They controlled the media in this world, the newspaper and headlines, and it made sense, that they would do anything at all to censor tales wherein the pirates were the victors over the heralds of 'Absolute Justice'.

"If you had any delusions of receiving great wealth from Hina's capture, you are grossly mistaken."

…well, that's a bummer.

"Why bother telling me any of this?"

"You have taken Hina's job, legs, crew, and pride as a woman. Hina has nothing left for you to take except Hina's life. And now that you know Hina has no other value to you, Hina wishes you to take it."

"You want me to kill you?" I asked, amused. "That's a pretty calm request for someone asking to die. Why don't you just bite off your own tongue then?"

"Hina… Hina still has Hina's pride."

"So you're too proud to kill yourself, but not proud enough to ask me to do it?"

She grit her teeth.

"What more do you want from Hina?!" her voice went louder. "What more do you wish to take?"

I bared my teeth. "I'm yet to take _you_."

"What?"

I patted the bed. "Join me," I said. "My crew."

"You mean your shameless harem of broken and damaged women?"

"You'd fit right in, don't you think?"

"Hina would rather die."

"What if I said I could give you your legs back?"

I saw it flash in her eyes. Hold and stay for a couple of seconds.

"You can't –"

"Oh, no, I'm fairly certain I can." I shrugged. "Look me in the eyes and tell me if you think I'm lying."

Her gaze caught mine. She stared, stared _hard_ , as if trying her hardest, _hoping_ her hardest, that I was lying.

"…how?"

"A vast number of ways," I said. "I have ideas for a temporary fix that can get you up on your feet again _instantly_ , and I have long-term plans which will give you legs far stronger and better than your original."

I could hear her heart beating in her chest. Losing her legs had actually affected her more than I'd imagined. I supposed I could understand. No doubt many people feared losing a limb or becoming crippled, having to live life constantly aided and assisted by another person. The One Piece world made it even worse in that the vast seas, pirates and dangerous weather was not disabled-friendly in the slightest.

"Of course," I said. "I doubt you'd be willing to take that option. It would mean you becoming a pirate, and surely," I drawled, " _Surely_ your convictions and belief in justice are worth far more than a second chance at life."

The turmoil on her face was almost delectable. _Cognitive dissonance_ , was a beauty. In modern day, this would have been a simple decision. A military soldier who was crippled permanently in action, being offered a chance to regain their ability to work again, if only they joined forces with their original enemies – the people responsible for the crippling in the first place.

It was the sort of things that movie plots were made of. Ultimately, it depended on how much Hina valued her ideals as a Marine, and whether she placed those ideals over her own life. If the value she held was too high, she would sooner kill herself than become what she sought out to destroy. But… if it _wasn't…_

"Hina… Hina would rather die… than join _you_."

I sighed.

 _Looks like I have to bring out the big guns._

"How unfortunate," I said, shaking my head. "To think all those men and women under your leadership had to deal with such a _coward_ as a captain."

She bristled. "What?"

"Death is the easy way out," I said. "Why bother living with the knowledge that your poor leadership cost their lives?" I shrugged. "At least, you don't have to meet their widows or orphaned children and look them in the eyes and tell them that their daddy is dead because you were _too weak_ to be able to protect them."

I bared my teeth. "Don't worry, someone else will tell them about the death of their loved ones. It's not like it's _your_ responsibility."

She balled her fists through her cuffs. "You're the one responsible for their deaths!"

"You're right," I said. "And here you are, on your knees, _begging_ me to send you to them, rather than trying your hardest to get them peace in the afterlife. So much for that _pride_."

She bared her teeth, snarling at me. The sound was guttural, _animalistic_. Rage and _fury –_

"Well, I do hope those widows and orphaned kids get some monetary compensation for their losses," I said. "Wouldn't want them to turn to prostitution and and become _piracy_ now would we? Certainly also hope they're well protected… otherwise… another big bad pirate could just come by… and then…"

I sighed melodramatically. "If only there was someone who'd chosen to stay alive, to make sure that those young 'un's don't end up dead at half the ages of their parents," I shrugged, and sighed again. "If only, there was someone, who'd chosen to protect them in the stead of their absent breadwinners…"

"You –" she gnashed her teeth so hard, powdered dust fell from her mouth. "Bastard – "

"Ah well, there's no one left." I cracked my knuckles. "So, where were we? Ah, yes, I was just about to kill you."

I rose my hands. Small explosions rocked off them, as I slowly gestured them to Hina's neck.

"W-wait –" she looked at me as if she'd been forced to swallow a burnt watermelon. "Hina will… Hina will join… you."

I gave her a smile.

"I'm afraid it's a little too late for that."

She jerked back. "W-what?"

"My offer was a one-time deal. Join my crew and regain your legs. That was the offer. But now… I realize you don't have any _real_ value to me other than being a pretty face. Your devil fruit isn't _that_ amazing, and there are plenty of beautiful women all over the Grand Line who'd literally get down on their knees and lick my feet to join my crew."

I latched my hands around her neck. Her face rapidly turned purple. "W-wait – "

I paused. "What?"

"Hina – Hina doesn't want to die –"

"I've reached the point where I don't _care_ what Hina wants." I squeezed. "But I'll bite. If you can give me one good reason as to why I should spare your life, I'll consider it. If you can think of one way at all that you'll be of use to me…"

"One r-reason?"

Her rapidly purpling face struggled to search for an answer. The seconds ticked by. Her lips blurted out "Hina – Hina knows about Marines! Marine formations, organizations, secrets –"

"You were a _Captain_ ," I squeezed harder. "I highly doubt your clearance level went that high. Anything _you_ know can't be that valuable."

"Hina – Hina can do – anything?"

I paused a bit. "Hmm… can you sing?"

"Ah…"

"Do you have vast medical knowledge?"

"N-no but – "

"Are you able to perform repairs and upgrades on a ship?"

"I –"

"So you can't really do _anything_ can you?"

"H-Hina can create things!"

"Create… things?" my lips twitched.

"With Hina's Ori Ori no Mi –" she spoke quickly. "Bindings – restraints –"

I laughed. "That's cute."

I unleashed her. She gasped, breathing in desperately.

"Alright. I'm going to undo your cuffs," I said. "If you can impress me… I'll consider it."

I didn't have the key to her seastone cuffs, but I didn't need to. I placed my finger through the keyhole, and applied a concentrated explosion within it. The heavy objects fell, clanging and leaving a deep indent in the wooden floor.

"Now –"

My hands went up, on instinct, to stop the sharp, black bars aimed at my head and my chest. I caught them, in place. I barely registered the look of surprise on her face. As if she didn't _think_ that I would be able to stop her attack. Her attack that was so unbelievably slow and immensely telegraphed that I would have seen it coming from three alternate dimensions away.

"…did you really think that would work?"

I twisted the metal of her arms until I heard something _crack_ and she let out a scream.

"You know, I _was_ actually going to help you. Give you back your legs. I even had plans about how I'd either track down the Surgeon of Death to transplant you new ones or kidnap Dr. Vegapunk to force him to build you amazing robotic limbs because a part of me felt genuinely bad for you."

I sighed. "I'm a simple man, my weakness is attractive women. But I have limits. Boundaries. My patience is thin. You've spat at my generosity, not once now, _but_ twice."

She didn't look comfortable, with her arms twisted in place. _Good_.

"Now, I'm not even going to kill you anymore."

I craned my neck.

"I'm just going to hurt you."

I flared my hands.

"Break you,"

I took another step.

"Crush you."

I lifted her into the air with one hand.

"And then, _then…_ when there is nothing left of the proud Marine Captain that was once called Hina…"

I grinned.

"I'll remake you, in _my_ own image."

"W-wait – forgive –"

I laughed.

"Forgiveness is up to God, Hina-chan."

I shook my head.

"And right now?"

I called upon my power.

" **You're in the hands of the devil** _._ "

The room was bathed in a white flash of light.

* * *

XXXXXXX

* * *

"Hey, privacy!"

Walking into the bathroom, I ignored Mikita's cry of privacy, and cleared my throat.

"So, listen up. There's a change of plans. Marine Captains are worthless and we're not getting any ransom for Hina. So, we're heading straight to Alabasta to see how much money can be made while bringing down Mr. 0's operation." I said. "Besides that, there's _another_ valuable little person we can abduct that'll _certainly_ get us paid a hefty ransom – and perhaps a Shichibukai title while we're at it. Bath and get dressed, we'll steal Hina's ship and set sail with it come noon. Any questions?"

Marianne's hand went up.

"Yes Mari-chan?"

'What's wrong with the marine lady?'

I tugged the chain attached to collar I'd affixed to her neck and forced her to stumble and crawl forward into the room. Her Marine Captain overcoat was the only thing she had on, and in her mouth was a cylindrical shaped gag, not unlike the type familiarized by the younger sister of a certain Demon Slayer. Her hair was tied back and kept in place with a pin, and fake, makeshift black legs grew from her stumps with her power.

"She pissed me off."

"…Captain… what… did you do?" Mikita gave me a disturbed look. "Did you… is she…"

"She's fine." I waved my hand in front of the white of her eyes. "A little blind but she doesn't really _need_ eyes for what I need her for anyway." I snapped my fingers beside her ears, and got a delayed reaction. "And there _may_ be some hearing impairment too." I yanked the chain. "If you ignore the brain trauma from numerous explosions going off in her face, she's fine. Perfectly fine. Best of all, she still knows how to follow orders. Isn't that right, Hina-chan?"

I got no reaction. Sighing, I snapped my fingers, creating a small flash in front of her.

"I said: _Isn't that right, Hina-chan?_ "

She nodded her head rapidly.

"…wow." Mikita stared. "I mean… why?"

"What do you feel when you look at her?"

"Like someone should put her out of her misery."

"And you hate her guts," I said. "Imagine what someone who knows her would feel seeing her like this?"

"They won't like that."

"They'll know not to fuck with us." I yanked the chain one more time, "What will pirates think, when they see a crew with a Marine Captain pet?"

Mikita thought it over. "They'll either really _really_ love us, or _really, really_ be scared of us."

I grinned. "What better way, to spread the name of the most terrifying Pirate Crew to sail the Grand Line?"

Marianne rose her hand.

"Yes Mari-chan?"

'Can I use my Color Trap on her to make her more colorful?'

I thought it over. I didn't see why not.

"As long as she's still recognizable as Captain Hina afterwards."

I clapped my hands, no explosions this time, of course.

"Alright Devil Pirates – we've got some sailing to do."

* * *

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

* * *

 **Lentil Island Docks**

 **Hina's Ship**

We set sail from Lentil Island to an unexpected amount of fanfare. Many of the villagers came to see us off, waving and cheering as we departed. Because I'd been too busy thinking about Mari-chan last night, I hadn't bothered bombing them all to oblivion for not sufficiently providing the amount of money I told them to.

Somehow, they took this to mean that the 'scary pirate man' wasn't as bad as he sounded, and thus, still a fairly decent person. It amused me, honestly, that the threshold to be considered a 'fairly decent pirate' was 'he didn't kill us all even though he said he would.'

The most difficult part of our departure was saying goodbye to the Pop Rock Candy. Mikita had stubbornly insisted against abandoning our old ship and switching to the larger, far better marine vessel that was Hina's ship. I didn't have any real sentimental attachment to the Pop Rock Candy, as I viewed ships as nothing more than a really slow, really outdated method of transportation.

She finally swayed and allowed the transfer once I mentioned the larger room available on Hina's Ship, along with the possibility of building further extensions – like a jacuzzi. The Pop Rock Candy as a sailing vessel was not suitable for the Devil Pirates – and there were just _so_ many benefits to sailing a marine ship than otherwise.

Captain Hina's ship was far larger than the tiny little sloop, for starters. The enormous cruiser-like beast was complete with three masts, two with two sails and one with a lateen sail. Six mounted cannons lay on each side of the hull and four larger cannons sat comfortably on the bow.

Naturally, a ship of such size was impossible to manage or sail effectively by just three people. Thankfully, we didn't _have_ just three people. Men and women, drabbed in Marine overcoats and outfits moved animatedly above the deck, some, mopping up the place, others, standing idly at attention over the sails. Others stood, at guard, with their flintlock rifles in place.

The only thing they all had in common, was the green tattoo atop their foreheads, occasionally hidden by their caps. Mari-chan had asked me what I wanted tattooed, and ultimately, to go with the theme of the Devil Pirates, I chose the number, '666.'

She didn't get the reference. No one else but me would get the reference. She didn't complain, as she worked skillfully on the few idiotic Lentil Island villagers who'd actually come up to ask if they could join my crew, dreaming of a life of piracy.

There were one or two original marine deckhands amidst them who'd apparently hid and cowered on the ship throughout upon learning that most of their comrades were dead, and Mari-chan had been rather _less_ careful with applying her tattoos to their skulls than the rest.

The idea to use tattoos with her paint came after I'd spotted the tools amongst some of the stuff Mikita had liberated from the ship. After complaining – she was not pleased to realize she grabbed a ton of stuff for nothing – she explained to me that the odd needle and wooden block box was meant for.

It'd somehow slipped my mind that tattoos were a thing here, even though numerous pirates had and used them to identify themselves and their members. The question as to _why_ someone in the marines had possessed tattoo equipment in the first place was a mystery, but one that was solved upon finding one of the young cowering deckhands with Hina's face tattooed onto his arm along with a large heart over it.

As tattoos were permanent, so too, was Mari-chan's hypnotic ability, permanently etched onto the skulls of the cogs of the Devil Pirates. Better still, with the Marine overcoats they wore, anyone who encountered us would be more likely to believe that they were being attacked by Marines than they were being attacked by pirates.

Of course, the ruse would be less effective over time, once people caught wind of what was going on, but for now, it would serve its purpose.

Thus, with our crew fully equipped and our thirst for new adventure and dangerous foes gradually rising –

We began our glory for conquest and chaos, and sailed for desert kingdom of Alabasta.

The world was a vast land filled with beautiful women, riches, kingdoms, and territory -

And the Devil Pirates were coming to take it.


	9. The Legacy

**Asmodeus Almighty this took a god-damn long time to get to. Wanna give a large fucking shout out to myself for being able to push through the mold and get this chapter out. Here's to hoping I keep it up and not regress backwards.**

 **As always, of course, shout out to you guys for reading, leaving a review, or a flame, or being that one guy sending me death threats because he's pissed about all the 'Allah Akhbar' jokes.**

 **On one hand, the joke has probably been overused and is arguably sensitive to those with religious inclinations so I should probably stop with any and all Islamic references, on the other hand, some of the threats are genuinely amusing enough that it leaves me itching to use those depraved ideas in my writing...**

 **Hmm... offend more people at the cost of getting increasingly vivid gory ideas and new curse words, or stop at the price of finally letting the threats end...**

 **Decisions decisions...**

 **Ah well. I'll think it over.**

 **As always, stay safe, wear a mask, and don't get screwed over by 2020.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

I awoke to the ache of fists battering my ribs. Pain and nausea accompanied my lurch to consciousness like the twin ravens on Odin's shoulders, whispering to him to secrets of the world. The only secret whispered to me was the command, _vomit_. _Vomit!_ Nausea yelled. _Vomit now!_

Water, bitter, spewed from my lips, dredged from my lungs, burning out of my throat and nostrils.

"He's coming to!"

"He's alive! We have a survivor here!"

Seagulls sang unfamiliar songs. Their cries felt mocking. I'd never felt strongly enough about noises of seabirds to regard them with any sentiment, but I knew, in those moments, as I awoke, that the seagulls were mocking me. The pelicans were more subtle, as were the vultures circling with embittered sneers, irritated at the loss of an easy feast.

 _He's alive, alive, alive, alive,_ one vulture sneered. Another one scoffed. _Not for long, not for long._

Unfamiliar faces hovered. My eyes itched and burned – sunlight streamed through lashes like a torn curtain. Blinding lights, _blinding_ lights – my eyes screamed and my throat pitched a campaign to do the same. Sound, stubbornly refused to escape my lips.

"My god, he's alive? Jesus Christ. I can't believe someone survived that wreckage."

 _Wreckage?_ My mind lurched. _Wreckage? Wreckage?_

"Hey, hey, relax, we've called 911. They'll be here soon."

 _911?_ My chest felt too small. _911? 911? What?_

"Hey… guys, I think – I think we should leave. I think we should leave, _now_."

"What are you on about?"

"Look – look goddamn it. The – the ocean –"

The waves were mocking me. They, like the seagulls, the pelicans, the vultures, they were mocking me. Fleeing from me. Depriving me of their presence. _Begone_ , the Ocean said. _Begone_.

 _Coward!_ My throat burned the words, but the sound did not emerge. _Coward!_

"Shit, shit, shit what the hell? The water – why's the water receding so fucking much?"

"Don't ask stupid questions man! You never watch a goddamn nature documentary? This much of a drawback only means –"

The pelicans were laughing. The vultures were salivating. The seagulls were singing again. Singing, singing, the seagulls were singing -

"Fuck. Run. Run. Run goddamn it!"

"What – what about the kid?"

"If you think you can outrun a freak tsunami with a half-dead kid on your back, then be my fucking guest."

The voice was coarse. He was a rough man. A scraggly man. Shorts, Hawaiian shirt, and flip-flops. Sunglasses atop his head. Surfboard beside his feet. In his hands, a small rectangular device – a black mirror with a visible button below.

A _smartphone_. I lurched my hand for it. _I've missed you._ My brain sent a weird message. _There are no smartphones in Oda's world._

"Shit, I'm getting out of here!"

My mind replayed the thought. _There are no smartphones in Oda's world. No smartphones. No smartphones. No smartphones… No… smartphones…_

 _I'm… back?_

"Goddamnit! I'm sorry!"

Flip-flops crashed on sand, receding from my hearing like a broken metronome. The vultures jubilated, diving like elegant swans for me. _Finally, finally,_ the vultures cheered. _Finally, finally._

The ocean's hand outstretched. She clicked her tongue. _No, no,_ the ocean said. _Not yet._

Ah, it was a competition. An odd competition. _Can a vulture outrace a tidal wave?_ Probably not. The vultures came to the same conclusion, sulking as they ascended skyward. The scavengers of the skies could not wage war against mother nature herself. Beasts were not so greedy as to revolt against the hand that fed them.

And what large hands the ocean had, oh, what large hands! Hands that blocked the sky. Obscured the sun. Hands that curled, slowly, with all-embracing fervor.

Something heavy struck my body. Sound faded in and out of my hearing like faint static. The songs of the seagulls started to sound familiar again. The tides hit to the right notes, a proper symphony.

My throat burned, eyes burned, body burned –

Briefly. Briefly. Just briefly. The burning, ultimately, was brief.

The universe was the sound of a radio tuned to a dead channel –

Until someone hit mute.

* * *

XXXXXXXXX

* * *

 **Grand Line**

 **Aboard the Lady Seven**

Vanity was a sly bitch. Mikita knew. Vanity was what aided her reluctance in midnight strolls to the kitchen area. Vanity was the friend whispering in her ear, jabbing elbows deep in her ribs, telling her to flaunt what she had. The numbers which appeared on a scale obeyed her whim and fancy, and it would be a waste for a man newly given sight to pluck out his eyeballs in fear of blindness.

This particular night was different. A light sleeper her captain was, and extra care was always needed when she floated out of his arms through the corridors guarded by enslaved silent men. Off she'd go, into the kitchen, where she'd cut out a slice of cake, return the slice, and take what was left unto the deck to eat under starlit sky.

This particular night, her ritual was different, because there were no arms to float out of. She'd checked around the room, ignoring the sleeping pet-Marine and the younger red-head, in lieu of finding where the man of mystery had vanished to.

Like a phantom, she floated her way across the hallway, her intent this night different. She found him, shirtless under the moonlight, gazing at the ocean.

Serenity was not a word that came to mind when she thought of him. Violence, chaos, destruction – all of these accompanied vibrant imagery when his name came across her lips. So did, strangely enough, the image of warmth, compassion, and _safety._ Or perhaps belonging? She wasn't sure. She hadn't belonged anywhere long enough to know the intricacies of such a feeling.

"You're awake."

No matter how silent her approach, he would always hear her coming. She let out an exasperated breath. Her annoyance was petulant. Mikita knew. Yet, the annoyance remained. One day, she'd learn to evade his inhuman senses. One day.

"Midnight snack," she said.

As always, she took her comfortable sitting position atop his shoulders. At first, she did it because she felt it'd rile him up. Over time, motivations changed. She was comfortable, atop his shoulders. She felt like a child, somewhat, sitting atop the shoulders of an adult, pointing out the mysteries of the world.

"I didn't realize the ocean was so interesting to look at," she joked. "Past midnight, out here, silently brooding… it can't be good for your health."

"Hm."

His subdued response unsettled her. She'd noticed that of him, lately. He swung like a pendulum; a pace too fast for her to keep up. He would be quiet, introspective, subdued, and then he would bounce back, loud, cocky, brash and chaotic. He was a bomb with an illogical, randomized fuse.

"What's bothering you this time?"

He hesitated. Mikita saw. She felt. The tenseness in his shoulders. The momentary indecision. He was deciding, it seemed, whether to tell her something, or not.

"You know," she cleared her throat. "After all I've seen you do, I don't really think there's _anything_ you can do that'll shock me anymore. Or anything you can say. So, how about we make a bet?"

"A bet?"

She emerged a smooth, neat, 10,000 beli note and waved it in front of his face. "You interested?"

"…Mikita, where were you keeping that?"

"You interested?" she repeated.

He sighed. There was so much defeat and exasperation in the sigh that she was almost offended. Almost. "Let's hear it."

"So, here's the wager." She folded the note. "Any time you feel you're about to do or say something that might make my brains feel like slush, you have to give me 10,000 beli in advance."

"…Go on."

She waved the note in front of his face. "If it _doesn't_ manage to make me have an expression like someone popped open my skull and started to scrub it squeaky clean with soap, I'll return the 10,000 beli back to you."

She watched him mull over the benefits. "And if it does?"

"I'll stack another 10k on top of it." She said. "An extra 1k for every level of mind-numbing, with 10k as the max. That means you stand to win 20,000 beli each time you manage to blow my mind."

V chuckled. "Really that desperate to go broke?"

"It's not about the money." She responded cheekily. "Besides, after all I've seen you do, I really don't think there's much else you _can_ do that'll shock me anymore."

She rested her arms atop his head. "That's kind of sad, Cap'n. Because of you, there are now soooooo many fewer things on the Grand Line that'll be capable of grossing me out, terrifying me, or making me speechless."

"You're welcome." His chuckle had significantly more life to it. "I think I'll take your wager."

"Good." She said. "Now, maybe you can start with what's been bothering you?"

"…I had a nightmare."

 _A nightmare?_ She pressed her lips together. _V had a nightmare?_ She couldn't imagine what sort of nightmare someone like him would have. Someone who barely flinched in the face of death and complete annihilation… what sort of nightmare could give him pause?

"I barely remember most of it." His shoulders rose and fell. "Yet, I couldn't shake it off."

Her brows rose. "That's it?" She didn't believe it. "I'm pretty sure it's more than just a nightmare that's been bothering you."

"…did Marianne tell you how she came to be a pirate?"

 _The red-head?_ Mikita's lips tightened a bit. She shook her head "No."

"Her parents met at the execution of the Pirate King, Gold Roger." Cap'n explained. "They were young impressionable kids who'd seen the world's greatest pirate be executed with a smile on his face, after announcing that his treasure was up for grabs. So, they formed their own crew, and sought to gain experience in North Blue before entering the Grand Line."

Mikita felt she knew where this was going. "It… ended poorly, didn't it?"

"She was born after they'd made a bit of a name for themselves sailing that sea, more or less as adventure-loving sailors than pirates, atop a ship called the Righteous Maple. She was nine when her family entered the race for Roger's treasure."

"…The Grand Line?"

"The Grand Line." He nodded. "Idealistic pirates on this sea are a dime a dozen. Thousands of people with ideals, hopes and dreams… but without the appropriate strength to succeed. Without fate's blessing and without providence's preference." He sighed. "She lost her father to a freak storm that emerged not long after the first few days on the Grand Line. She lost her uncles and cousins some days later, to an abrupt sea-king attack. Whatever was left of the crew of the Righteous Maple was picked apart into pieces by other pirate crews, absorbing and gathering strength."

Mikita winced. She knew how it was. Her Cap'n pulled out a cigarette. He snapped his fingers, lighting it in front of the stick, before placing it to his lips. She didn't truly approve of his newfound smoking habit because of the charred taste it left on him, but she didn't comment on it.

"The Pirate King, Gol D. Roger." He exhaled a puff of smoke. "What a fucking joke."

Her brows furrowed. _Gol… D?_

"For every idealistic adventurer he spurned forth with his final words, there are probably five murders, seven rapists, and twelve orphans." He said. "Ironic, perhaps hypocritical coming from me… but I'm not supposed to be anyone's role model. I'm not supposed to be worth emulating."

V's head swayed from side to side. "The Pirate King is a man that many men want to be. They hold the title with reverence, completely ignorant to the realization that he kick-started the worst age of pirates in history. Nearly every bad deed done by every pirate today can be traced back to moment that fucker opened his lips and made the world believe that piracy would grant them their deepest, fullest desires."

"He… was right, though, wasn't he?" she pointed out. "You _can_ get your desires by being a pirate. By plundering and taking – you can have the whole world."

"You can get your desires by being a _powerful_ pirate," he corrected. "Most pirates in their lifespan will struggle to fight a Marine Lieutenant, and hardly ever dream about taking on a Captain. Of the potentially hundreds of thousands of people who became pirates in search for his treasure, only one person will find it. And the rest, who'd turned to piracy originally, upon realizing that they have no hope of ever getting that grand slice of pie… what do you think happens then?"

"They'll look for another pie?"

He nodded. "They look for another pie." He exhaled more smoke into the air. "And while everyone in the world is busy searching for their pies… the world only further rots, decays and worsens."

She sighed, heavily. "Didn't really take you as the philosophical type, Cap'n."

"I have my moments."

"But what are you going to do about it exactly? It's not like you can turn back time and tell the Pirate King to shut his mouth."

"I told you already, didn't I?" He tossed his cigar butt into the ocean. "I'm going to become the Devil of Pirates. The complete antithesis to everything the Pirate King stood for. The part of piracy he didn't see or willfully ignored with his ideal-tinted glasses."

"So what you're saying is… you're going to be the most evil pirate in the world… in order to… prevent piracy?" She couldn't keep the amusement out of her voice.

"That's a roundabout way of looking at things," V said. "But I can't say it's wrong. Once people come to associate piracy not with wonder and adventure, but with cruelty, misery and destruction… there'll be far less pirates to worry about."

"Ending the age of pirates… by being the worst pirate to ever live." Mikita tested the words. She sighed. Without another word, she floated off his shoulders and stuffed a 10,000 beli note into V's hands.

"I have a feeling I'm going to regret making this bet with you."

* * *

XXXXXXX

* * *

 **Alabasta**

 **South-East,**

 **Port Town of Nanohana**

Once the Lady Seven docked, I knew immediately that Oda's inspiration for Alabasta was Egypt. The architecture was clearly Egyptian in origin, and although I'd never visited the famed city of the Nile, I'd played enough _Prince of Persia_ and watched enough _Prince of Egypt_ to be able to accurately identify the blatant similarities between the Nanohana and what resembled traditional Egyptian architecture.

The differences were astounding as well. For starters, Nanohana was significantly _larger_ than I expected, with long winding streets and rooftops stretching out further and further into the horizon. There were no visible mosques, though there were the occasional dome-like structures erected with pointed roofs that was most likely this world's version of the religious structure. I did not know how the religion in this world worked, nor was I particularly interested in discovering how.

The people, also, from the dockhands to the merchants and travelers, were notably dark-skinned. Not dark enough to be cast as Africans, but certainly darker than the majority of people I'd encountered on the Grand Line so far, enough to be considered Middle-Eastern. It made sense the further I thought about it, and made littler sense as to why Vivi, a stand-in for a literal Princess of Egypt, had possessed such fair skin in the first place despite living in desert all her life.

You don't live in the desert or descend from a lineage of individuals living in a desert and emerge with perfectly pale skin. Not unless your mother performed funny business behind the scenes.

I chalked it up to Japanese aesthetics. For all of that country's seeming lack of care towards any sort of political correctness, it still possessed its own standards of beauty and appeal, and simply put, _black_ was not "in" for the demographic.

A shame. The image of a Middle-Eastern, dark-skinned Vivi was in my head, and it amused me to wonder what she would have been like.

Geographically of course, Egypt was located in Africa. Though, like a majority of the North African countries, they never truly considered themselves 'Africans.' There was certainly some history to go into it, and my jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none knowledge didn't manage to cover that topic.

My focus on Egypt when arriving to Nanohana was not random. If Oda was the lauded narrative genius numerous individuals felt he was, then he would have added numerous things to the terrain, world and lore that would fit the inspiration and theme. As any good _Sid Meier's Civilization_ player knows, the terrain of where you set up your cities can either completely break or make your entire civilization.

Being a majorly desert-oriented kingdom would signify that agricultural produce would not be bountiful. This indicated the necessity to import foodstuff, livestock and other luxury and bonus resources into the kingdom. This constant demand for imported goods would necessitate trade to the nearest neighboring countries, but also put heavy strain on the country's finances.

Thus, the country needed a means to support its finances. Agriculture was a laughable option, as once again, majority of the city was, again, a _desert._

In Ancient Egypt this problem was solved through the Nile. The Nile created a fertile green valley across the desert, and it was on this valley that one of earth's first civilizations began. Ancient Egyptians cultivated and grew enough food along the Nile to feed the bustling population. Their major production was wheat, which enabled them to bake bread, and bread's role in the development of society _cannot_ be understated.

In Egypt, of course, the Nile River is over thirty million years old, and has never, ever, in its history, dried up.

In Alabasta however?

"Cap'n… is it just me… or are the locals a bit… odd?"

The Nile never dried up. Rainfall or not, the Nile continued to aid the Egyptians. As a matter of fact, Egypt and most desert-based nations receive considerably little rainfall than other countries not founded on arid lands. If Egypt had relied on rainfall to get things done, they would have starved.

If Alabasta possessed its own 'Nile' on which the country was founded, and somehow, it was _reliant_ on rainfall to be able to farm enough food to feed the populace –

"Fuck."

"Cap'n?"

"Alabasta is broke."

Mikita glanced at me. She turned her gaze down to the market bazaar. I could see the children in rags, running up and down the place, some with quicker and far more deft fingers than strictly needed. There were old men in the street, with withered, bony legs and rags, sitting almost serenely in front of a cheap clay bowl filled with few snippets of coins.

Merchants' robes were clearly old and frayed. Their produce did not have the mark of 'freshness' and 'quality'. Shadiness emanated from every street and corner, and no doubt there were desperate swindlers about, looking towards new arrivals as fresh, eager prey.

"I kinda figured that out, with the whole slit-your-throat-and-take-your-wallet eyes I've been seeing."

I furrowed my brows. "This makes little sense."

"A country being broke?"

"A country being broke, but having rich royalty."

The King and royalty of Alabasta clearly lived in affluence. The mansion was grand and elegant, containing its own hot springs to which I clearly remember simply because it was the first time Nami flashed her goods. There was also the massive feast they were able to give to the Straw Hats upon their defeat of Crocodile which indicated _some_ level of prosperous wealth to do so while a significant portion of the city starved –

"On second thought, it makes full sense."

Royalty still managing to throw feasts while the populace starved was not an uncommon occurrence in history. What was the quote again? Let them eat cake?

The castle at Alubarna must have been built ages ago by Vivi's ancestors, most likely on slave labor practices.

"This is complicated…"

Crocodile was not the major threat. Even after Crocodile was stopped, Alabasta still possessed a grand host of problems that would not vanish simply once the rains returned. Granted, they would be able to feed their populace once more, and grease the gears of the workforce, but unless they were capable of outputting enough food such that the excess was being shipped off and sold at high profits to neighboring countries, I could not for the life of me see how Alabasta was financially stable.

The only possibility was that they had something of value that they were exporting that managed to bring in most of the country's profit. Gold? Iron? Silver? Diamonds?

"Mikita… what exactly is Alabasta famous for?"

"Famous?"

"Major exports," I clarified. "What would you say, is the major reason someone would even bother coming here for tourism?"

Mikita pointed in a straight direction. I noticed it immediately. The men and merchants, holding little bags in their hands, and pressing on a tiny valve that sprayed unto a passing customer. The customer would then complain, only to pause and sniff the air, and the merchant would begin his gambit.

"Perfumes." I said, disbelievingly. "…Perfumes… really?"

Using 4X logic, perfumes would be classified as a luxury item. Yet, at the same time, I could see it. There was a grossly disproportionate amount of wealth available in the One Piece world, and if Alabasta generated enough goodwill to be known as a country with top perfume makers, those who catered to the rich and powerful would buy wholesale from Alabasta, and ship to other kingdoms to sell at exorbitant retail prices.

It also recently occurred to me that Alabasta _was_ a member of the World Government, and as such, there were most likely additional incentives, subsidies, and plans put in place to ensure that the nation did not sink into debt. They didn't help too much or too little, just enough to ensure the country didn't sink, but not so much as to make it flourish.

"You've been making a really constipated expression for the past few minutes."

I let most of my thoughts banish from my mind, before shaking my head. "There are several ways to cripple or topple a country. Brute force is often the most difficult, not the easiest. Cutting off trade routes, sabotaging major exports and production, and preventing tourist interest can a more powerful impact than a bomb placed at the center square."

"We're here to take down Alabasta?"

"We're here to take down Baroque Works, but after that, we're here to _bully_ Alabasta until they concede a fortune to us." I clarified. "We can do that either by kidnapping their royalty and holding them ransom, holding an entire city ransom, or costing them massive financial and diplomatic losses until they either cave to our demands, or attempt to dissuade us with force… in which case, we escalate the situation by doing the aforementioned city-ransom holding."

The Lady Seven was giving priority docking, due to the fact that it was, or appeared to be, a Marine vessel. Along the shoreline I caught glimpses of other ships, but there were no other visible marine vessels, nor did I see anything resembling the Going Merry.

 _Smoker isn't here yet. Neither are the Straw Hats._

The absence of the show's "protagonists" was perfect. Crocodile's operation was most likely still going on in full swing, and he was most likely not expecting me to appear and throw a wrench in his plans.

"Heh… hehehehehe…"

There was no reason to go about things with brute force. There was no reason at all. No, there was the perfect way to go about doing things that would, if I was correct, completely change the stakes and the board game.

"Alright Devil Pirates, we have a city to conquer."

* * *

XXXXXX

* * *

 **Port Town of Nanoha**

 **Midnight**

 _V is weird_ , Marianne felt. Making her way down the streets of Nanoha, idly sketching a new image on her sketchbook, she let her thoughts wander. _V is soft._ A bit too soft, she felt. He was a bleeding heart, which was strange to see in pirates these days. Normally when she told people how she became a pirate, they responded with a shrug, a dull look, or, like that one time with Big Pinky Joe, they offered her some alcohol and told her to down her troubles.

V had done none of that though. He seemed bothered. It was weird. _He_ was weird. Marianne didn't bother questioning his weirdness too much. If anything, she was glad that he was so contradictory. He gave her whatever she asked for, he didn't demand things excessively of her, and he was interested in helping her develop her abilities.

A few months ago, before Mr. 3 died, she'd required symbols to be able to use her _Color Trap_. Ultra-specific symbols which needed to be drawn in a particular way for it to work. That changed in the weeks she spent on the island, evading giants and man-eating dinosaurs. Dinosaurs wouldn't wait for her to draw one particular symbol before they lunged. Giants wouldn't wait for that either.

Learning how to simply use the _colors_ rather than the _symbols_ to implant suggestive messages within the heads of man and beast alike had taken hard work. Now, so long as she had her paint, and so long as she painted the right color, the effects would always work on those who were susceptible to it.

V said that she could go further.

V believed she could do more.

 _Your gift,_ he'd say _, is something out of this world._

Unlike most words of encouragement, she'd received which she could tell was empty praise, whenever V said them, she _knew_ he was saying the truth. Then, there was the sheer amount of training he'd made her go through.

V said, if she learned how to use her powers truly effectively, there was essentially no battle in the world she could not overcome. There would be no enemy she could not defeat.

 _V is weird._

Marianne slung open the bar door, _Oasis Drinks_ , and continued onwards, ignoring the silence. The stares were plentiful, the lecherous gazes were more than she was accustomed to, though she knew it was because she'd stolen some of Mikita's clothing again. She took a seat at the front of the bar, emerging out her sketch pad, and scribbling something on it immediately.

The Bartender's gaze glanced to the sketchpad, and then to her face. She quirked an eyebrow. The rough, thuggish looking man had his expression turn into a sneer.

"Anyone can come into here claiming to be anyone," his chaffed lips opened, spittle splashed against her sketchbook. "Where's your _partner_?"

Patiently, she flipped another page, and scribbled again. The Bartender glanced it over, and scoffed loudly. "Of course. He's just so _fortunately_ not alive to corroborate your story." He crossed his arms. "Listen missy, I don't know who you think you are, but walking in here and making such a bold claim –"

"Hey, Handel, what's the problem?"

Handel, pointed straight at her. "This little bitch is the problem. She says she's _one of us_ ," he exclaimed. He turned back to frown at her. "No, she's claiming to be _above_ us. An _Officer Agent_ , she says."

 _Oasis Drinks_ located in the heart of Nanoha was another secret hub for the members of Baroque Works. She'd never visited the place personally, but she did know about it from her former partner. Mr. 3 had been extremely judicious and meticulous in documenting every major link and connection of the Baroque Works organization.

"An officer agent?" a man barked a laugh. Other men in the bar chuckled together. "This brat?"

Handel leered at her sketchbook. "She claims she's someone called… Miss Goldenweek."

Sound seemed to withdraw from the bar immediately. She knew from the second she entered, every scarred-face, thuggish looking chap sitting in the bar was a member of the Millions. Some of them didn't even bother to hide their tattoos, and those who did, sat accompanying those who couldn't care less.

"Hey," one man whispered. "Miss Goldenweek… isn't that… the partner of – "

"I mean, she could be… but… how do we know she's real?"

"What are you all whispering about for?" Handel shouted. "You guys really think this tiny little girl is somehow an officer agent? And you call yourselves men?"

The burly man scoffed. "As if I'm supposed to believe that. If she's an Officer Agent, I'll eat my fucking shoe."

The doubt began to seep in. She watched the others, roused by Handel's words, begin to question the veracity of her claim. Not that she blamed them, from the start, even when she accompanied Mr. 3, people hardly believed she was a member of Baroque Works. For a long time, she'd lacked any true offensive capabilities of her own, and thus, despite being an Officer Agent, she'd been far weaker than members of the Billions and the Millions.

Marianne pressed her lips tightly together. _V said this would happen_. Some men were drawing their weapons. Others were rising from their feet with less than savory intentions in mind. With a flick, she emerged a brush. With another flick, she emerged an easel filled with paint.

The hesitation of the men vanished, and the room erupted in laughter. "Paint! She's got a paintbrush!"

"What are you going to do to us little girl, paint our nails?"

She dipped the brush into the black paint, and then the red paint. With a swirl and flourish, she slapped the dark red paint across the chest of man jerked back and swore. "You little shit, I'll – "

A fist slammed directly into his nose. The bar went quiet. Handel rose, roaring in pain. "Who the fuck –"

Another fist slammed into his face again. He crashed down over the bar. He opened his lips, only for a right hook to crash against his mouth, teeth and blood splattering unto the floor. Another fist crushed his jaw. One smacked against his nose a second time and shattered it.

The only sound which could be heard in the bar was that of a fist smacking against skin. The squelching sound of wet, bloodied hands crashing against flesh. Barely a minute passed before Handel started whimpering. He never got the chance to beg. Each time he opened his lips, a fist connected against his face. Each time he made a sound, a sickening squelching blow would rattle his brain.

No one could make sense of what happened, least of all Handel, who, after the blows had stopped, found himself holding his shoe with his bloodied, broken knuckles, and shoving it forcefully down his throat.

A wide berth emerged as everyone backed away from Handel, the man forcefully choking himself on his own shoe, and Marianne, the girl sitting with her legs crossed, staring blandly, and twirling a paintbrush in her hand.

It took longer than expected, but he did, succeed, in shoving his shoe down his throat. He wasn't able to swallow it all the way however, his grunting, gasping noises slashing through the silence of the bar for several long seconds before he went still.

The remaining men backed away even further, pressing themselves against walls, falling pitchers and trying their hardest to become inconspicuous. Marianne pressed her lips together. She hadn't understood, at first, why V had sent her on this mission, but she did admit, she was beginning to. It was strange, odd, in fact, seeing fully grown men, muscle-bound and hardened, stumbling backwards away from her with fear in their eyes.

There _was_ fear in their eyes. She'd never seen it as clearly or as sharply as she was seeing it now. Never encapsulated the emotion of human terror so pristinely. As an artist, she felt as though her eyes were merely opening for the first time. The colors were vivid, brighter than anything she'd possessed on her easel. The scents and sounds made the entire moment register in her brain on a deep, intrinsic level.

The primality of emotion which she felt incapable of capturing in her colors lay bare before her.

Fervor-like inspiration took over. She moved to her sketchbook, ignoring the flinching men, and with haste, she began to paint. Trace, to capture the moment as it was, fresh and wild before it was diluted by other thoughts or sensations.

 _Art –_

Her wrists flicked across parchment at a speed she did not know realize possible. Her eyes locked on to the scene, taking raw the colors of what she understood to be _terror and fear,_ and slapping them unto paper.

 _This… is art._

She'd never understood Mr. 3's obsession with his art until now. She'd seen him, countless times, turn living human beings into wax statues, immortalizing them in their ultimate poses where they would remain forever. He'd always been picky about making sure that their poses encapsulated the rawness of human emotion, and all the while, Marianne had seen it as a mere odd quirk.

Now, she understood what drove him. She missed him. Missed that it was too late for her to tell him, that she finally understood his fervor; she understood his art.

"Um… M-M-Miss Goldenweek, sir – I mean, ma'am –"

She turned a fierce glare on the man who interrupted her. He flinched backwards. Sweat dripped from his brow even in the cold evening, and he backed away immediately.

She huffed a breath, and returned to her sketch.

 _Rude._

The men returned, as inconspicuously as they could, to their seats. No one dared touch Handel's body. No one dared move towards the door. All the while, Miss Goldenweek hummed a satisfied tune as she prepared what would be her latest masterpiece.

 _Done!_

She was satisfied with the image. Satisfied, somewhat. The painting was as realistic as it could be, but it was missing something. There was _something_ missing from the art that could not be expressed. The two-dimensional limitations of her art prevented it from emanating the emotional impact she wanted – the emotional impact she desired.

She turned her gaze upwards back to the bar.

 _Aha!_

The answer was right in front of her.

Mr. 3 always said, _art requires sacrifice._

And she was sure V wouldn't really mind if she had some fun experimenting with the few tricks he taught her. She swirled her brush into paint again, _ **Uragiri no Kuro**_ _(Black of Betrayal)_ and then the _ **Togyu no Aka**_ _(Red of Bullfighting)_. Two of her base colors which combined, to create _**Jiko Hakai no Ketsueki**_ _(Blood Red of Self-Destruction.)_

She glanced around the room filled with Baroque Works minions, closing one eye and gesturing out with her thumb and paintbrush. _The perfect angle…_

"Miss Goldenweek-sama, ma'am –"

"Please, wait, we – we're all Baroque Works! We – we're sorry we insulted you –"

She tilted her head. _They were sorry?_ Marianne shrugged. This had nothing to do with that. She was used to it. This was different. She was an artist, and they were going to be her art. If she didn't use them for her art, V would use them for his.

And as much as she enjoyed V, he was a rather terrible artist.

* * *

XXXXX

* * *

 **Port-Town of Nanoha**

 **Northern Gate**

 **1:20 AM**

V and Miki were already waiting for her. V was wearing his usual overcoat, because he didn't seem to care much for the desert cold or heat. Mikita was wearing lighter clothes, traditional Alabastan wears. They also brought along Hina-chan, who was wearing pretty much the same thing, and held back by a chain leash in V's hands.

"Did you have fun?" was the first thing that escaped his lips.

She nodded, albeit slowly. ' _I got to make a lot of art.'_

He approached her, his warm hands patting her head. He smelt of cigarettes and thick, richly roasted pork. She glanced at him, questioningly.

"I had fun too," he said, cheekily. " _Lots_ of fun."

He cleared his throat. "Anyway," he jerked the chain he was holding, "Hina-chan, if you would please."

The ex-Marine captain obeyed, slamming her hands together and creating a large, contained, cage-like structure. The black dome was large enough for about three people, and there were two windows attached to the sides. The bottom of the dome was a flat, large piece of black iron, attached to round black loops with black chains running across them.

"Is that… a carriage?" Mikita turned to V. "We're traversing the desert… in that?"

"Yes," he sounded amused. "Hina's devil fruit is particularly useful… for those with sufficient imagination anyway."

"It looks like a giant witch pot turned upside down... with holes and wheels slapped to the side."

"Glad to know all my explosions haven't damaged your 20-20 vision."

Mikita crossed her arms. "In case you've forgotten, the rest of us aren't immune to heat Captain. We'll roast in there once the sun comes up."

"Objects created by the Ori Ori no Mi are poor conductors of heat. It isn't like any metal in the world because it isn't _really_ a metal." V clapped. "Now, in you go. Besides, if we're fast enough, I believe we'll be able to get to Alubarna before the sun comes up."

The Captain of the Devil Pirates gave one of his increasingly bloodthirsty grins. "And that is where all the fun is going to begin."

* * *

XXXXXXXX

* * *

 **Location: ?**

 **3:50 AM**

Stealth missions were not my preferred method of approach. High in the sky, the desert chill was biting. Manipulating a dome of soundproof waves to keep our descent silent was difficult. Even more so with a girl strapped unto my back, and another, clad in black, staring at me with amusement.

The destination came in view as we broke through the clouds. Unlike the city of Nanoha which had possessed Egyptian styled architecture, the grand palace below us was something that would not have been out of place in a Middle-Eastern, perhaps Iraqi setting. My knowledge on those topics being limited, my focus strayed towards a sustainable landing strategy.

My 'landing strategy' trailed behind me as the palace began to sharpen in view. A thousand feet, nine hundred, five, three, two –

Mikita jerked me upwards, floating in the air seconds before Marianne and I made impact with the ground. I gestured with my two fingers, and silenced my steps completely. Mikita floated beside me, having no steps requiring silencing. Her Devil Fruit was more suited to stealth and assassination than mine by far.

We landed in the middle of a flourishing garden. My brows rose at the collection of flowers, vibrant, lively, despite the arid nature of the country in question. Closing my eyes, I focused on my hearing, on the sound-waves I could pick up, the footsteps, the heat signatures, the heartbeats – all the signs of life I could detect from our landing position onwards.

The information pumped its way into my brain in a combination of thermal imagery and sonar data. I could tell that the two guards positioned at the doorway leading out of the gardens were relaxed, with one nearly dozing off. I could detect what routes the guards in the main hallway were following, how quickly they were moving from the vibrations in their footsteps, and gleam what path they were likely to follow. I knew immediately that most of the palace workers were asleep in their beds, and the kitchen area was all but deserted.

And I could tell what area was reserved for royalty, simply from the grandiosity of space, the prevalence of more active, alert guards and mobile guards, and the rigidity and inflexibility of their patrols.

I mentally mapped out the shortest route from our current location to our destination, and realized it would unfortunately put us in the path of several palace guards. Fortunately, I'd already thought about a work-around.

I flicked two fingers to the side, gesturing at Mikita. Marianne stayed firm on my back, and I circled one finger up and down, wordlessly giving her the needed instructions.

The mission was a go.

We marched like a shadow and a specter, moving out of the gardens into a large open hallway. A sleepy-eyed guard spotted us, opening his mouth to cry an alarm. His words died in his throat as Marianne lobbed a pellet of black paint down his mouth. His partner standing beside him was unable to make a sound before his head lopped off his shoulders, decapitated by his own comrade.

I touched the body and the head, muffling the sound, and letting rip my explosion. The soundless explosions ripped through the area with a small pressure of breeze that would easily be mistaken for the desert winds. The evidence vanished, and the mind-controlled guard merely saluted us as we made our way out of the garden and into the halls.

Soundlessly, our ascent up the Palace continued in the manner of elimination or conversion. Any opponent that Marianne could not hit with her paint fast enough, was eliminated by Mikita floating above and behind them, slamming two fingers into the back of their heads to rip out their tongues. It was somewhat noisier than I liked. It forced me to move quickly and disintegrate their bodies to ash with a silent explosion before anyone could question the gurgling.

Ultimately, the guards were ill-equipped for the combined teamwork of the Devil Pirates. I honestly believed there were truly few individuals who were well equipped enough to handle the three of us as we were.

Within five minutes since landing, we'd made our way from the center garden to the outskirts of the bed-chambers. Two guards stood at the end of a long, large corridor, guarding a door that held our target. Normally, it would be impossible for us to eliminate them without alerting everyone within the bedchambers that there was a threat present.

However, there was one caveat:

 _Speed_.

The universal transmission rate for human speech was somewhere at about thirty-nine bits per second. Most people speak at an average speed of four to five syllables per second. Most words are two to three syllables long, meaning that the average person speaks approximately a hundred to one-thirty words per minute. Roughly two-point-five words a _second_ if I was being generous.

Words such as "Al-Arm" or "In-Tru-Der" were multisyllabic, and could be said in a single breath. However, there was a delay in human reaction speed that was finite. Individuals needed time for their brain to process a threat, analyze the threat, and then call attention to the threat in a way that was universally understood.

Accounting for all this, I estimated, it takes nearly one point three five seconds.

The clock started ticking the second we entered their field of vision.

0.10 seconds – the guards' eyes traced movement approaching via their peripheral vision.

0.33 seconds – neurons fired. The sympathetic nervous system sent out impulses to glands and smooth muscles and roars at the adrenal medulla to release adrenaline into the bloodstream. Their hands painstakingly moved over to the sheathes of their weapons.

0.52 seconds – their lips opened, air swelled into their lungs, larynx's vibrated in preparation for the displacement of air that would follow the announcement of a phoneme.

1.02 seconds – Mikita drew the blade of the left man in a reverse grip, swinging it in a wide, sweeping motion with the accumulated momentum of her initial burst of speed.

1.23 seconds – Two decapitated heads entered my palm, flash burning in a silent, superheated spark of blue flame that left powdered ash in my fingertips.

1.45 seconds – I caught two falling headless bodies, detonating the carbon-based matter on a cellular level with silent explosions.

2.00 seconds – ashen remains dusted off the tips of my finger nails.

The unsteady thrums of my heart were still loud, even after we'd completed the feat. I glanced at Mikita. Mikita grinned. I grinned back. Marianne squeezed me tighter. The blood pumping in my own body never sounded clearer.

Taking a deep breath to collect myself, we turned to the door as one, and with a light, push – we opened it to find our prize.

Truly, it was a chamber worthy of a King. Vast, elegant, with a fitting portrait of a woman with blue hair, but older, kept in the center of the room. There was both a bear-rug and a chandelier, as if the interior designer had given the instructions 'lavish and extravagant' and no limitations in budget.

The old man snored in his sleep, clad in pajamas that were unbefitting and heavily clashing with the rest of the opulence surrounding his room. The bed was large enough to possibly fit five, maybe six people all at once, yet one man lay on it, sole and quiet.

He slept rather well for a man whose kingdom was in ruins, and who's daughter was supposedly missing.

I made a gesture. Marianne hopped off my back, finally, and shut the door as she did so. With everything set, I turned to Mikita, and nodded twice.

She floated directly over the King, and with a large heavy slap – she drew him to reality.

"Wake up, _your royal highness_!"

"Wha – what – what's going on? Who are you? Guards! Gua –"

"Shhh."

She dragged the King off the bed. He fell, literally on his fours beneath my feet. A King, a literal King, lay at my feet, and the urge to laugh almost escaped me. Almost.

"Hold him down."

"What are you doing? Get off me! Guards!"

"Nobody can hear you," I said. "I created a vacuum in this room that prevents sound from escaping. Cry and shout and scream all you want, and all you'll be doing is wasting your breath."

Cobra glanced up at me, a defiant scowl on his face. "What is it that you want? Gold? Treasure?"

"Something more," I said, shrugging. Mikita pinned him to the floor, and Marianne emerged her paint and tattoo set.

"What – what are you doing?"

"A long time ago," I said to the King. "I read a book. A book about man's existence and struggle for meaning. In that book, there was a quote that stuck with me."

Marianne prepared her tattoo set, priming it with her special ink. King Cobra's eyes glanced at it, confused and unknowledgeable as he was as to what was about to happen, he knew it could not be good.

" _Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's way._ "

A soft, dawning realization appeared on the King's face.

"Unfortunately, your highness, as it turns out, even that can be taken."

"Wait, stop – stop this, please we can negotiate –"

I patted the King on his head like I would pet a stray, pitiable dog.

"Don't worry. I'll be sure to take _good care_ of Vivi for you."

I turned around, and clapped my hands.

"Mari-chan… relieve the King of his burdens."

The screams of a defiant monarch cried out that night –

And the only ones who heard it, where those who would shape his legacy.


End file.
